


The Cat and the Agent

by ArtfulDoodler



Category: M.I. High
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Comedy, Espionage, F/M, Humor, Humour, Romance, Spy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 331,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtfulDoodler/pseuds/ArtfulDoodler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank falls for Mrs. King's niece. But is she all that she seems? Rated M for swearing and love scenes in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The Cat and the Agent is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's (that's me!) imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

It was a cool September night in Mayfair. The night sky was lit by a full moon and sparkling stars. An unknown figure was standing on the roof of a building. Their eyes closed listening to the hustle and bustle from the streets below. An alarm sounds from a jewellery store not far from where the figure was. A robber charged out of the store, dropping a few pieces of loot as he went.

“Stop! Thief!” a man shouted.

“Hey, watch it!” cried a woman.

“Can't somebody stop that guy?” another man exclaimed.

Listening to the panic from the roof, the figure said, “I intend to.” Opening their eyes, the figure pursued the robber, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

On the streets below, the robber ran into Hyde Park. He headed to the bandstand where he stopped to catch his breath as he leaned against one of the pillars. Pulling off the balaclava, he opened the bag and looked at the jewellery he robbed. He dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out a handful of the jewels.

“Beautiful…” he breathed, admiring the jewels.

“Didn’t your mother tell you that robbing is wrong?” a voice declared.

The robber stuffed the jewels back into the bag, looking around him. “Who’s there? Where are you?” he called into the night.

The person whistled. “Up here, dummy!”

The robber looked up and saw a silhouette of the figure, standing on the roof of the bandstand.

“You!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed.

The figure jumped off the roof, performing a three-point landing. “Yes, it is I – the Cat.”

The Cat stood up and stepped out of the shadows. The Cat was a young dark-skinned female, wearing a black skintight catsuit. The suit has attached gloves, accompanied with black combat boots. Her accessories are a dark grey utility belt and a purple wristwatch-sized device. She wore a black high-tech, domino-shaped infrared goggles over her eyes, and black cat ears sat on top of her head. Her black hair cascaded across her shoulders, and her lips were cherry red.

The Cat pointed at the robber. “You, sir, are about to get your arse whooped if you do not give back those jewels,” she told him.

The robber pulled out a pocket knife from his leather jacket. “I like to see you try, kitty-cat,” he replied.

As the robber lunged towards the Cat, she sighed. “Why do they always choose the hard way?” she murmured.

The Cat dodged the attack. The robber lunged again, but the Cat leaped backwards into the air, arching out of the way of the attack.

“Missed me!” she jeered, waving at the robber.

“Grrrrr!” the robber growled before lunging in for a third attack. But this time, the Cat kicked the knife out of his hand and does a roundhouse kick across his face.

The robber staggered back and wiped the blood from the corner of his lip with his thumb.

“You little bitch!” he snarled. “You’re gonna pay for this!”

His hand balled into a fist and he charged at the Cat. But she cartwheels, slashing across his bag with her claws as she passed him. The jewellery falls out of the new opening in the bag.

“Naughty, naughty,” the Cat teased, shaking her finger at her opponent.

“Gah!” The robber sneered as he threw the bag down and runs off through the park, with the Cat close behind him.

“You’re not gonna get away!” she called to the robber. She reached to her utility belt and pulled out an Eskimo yo-yo. She throws the yo-yo around the feet of the robber, causing him to trip. Then the Cat throws a pellet at him. It releases fast-acting knockout gas after it exploded on impact, incapacitating the robber.

The Cat waits until the fog dissipates. She walked up to the robber and flipped him on his back. His nose is bloody due to him falling on his face.

“Sweet dreams,” the Cat said, untangling the yo-yo from the robber’s ankles.

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance.

“Looks like I better skedaddle out of here. But not before I present the Metropolitan Police a little parting gift,” she grinned.

xxoOoxx

“Sarge! Here are the jewels!” a male constable called to the female sergeant.

“What about the robber?” the dark-haired woman asked the constable as she approached him. He shook his head in response.

“Sarge, you’ve got to come and see this,” another male voice told the sergeant on her radio. “I’m at the Queen Caroline Memorial.”

“I’m on my way, Riley,” the sergeant replied, and starts to head to the scene.

Ten minutes later, the sergeant arrived at the memorial – but stopped in her tracks at the sight she sees.

“Riley!” the sergeant called to the constable who radioed her.

A young man in his early thirties approached the sergeant. He was tall and slim, with blond hair and green eyes.

“What the hell is this?” the sergeant asked Riley.

“This is how we found him, Sarge,” he replied. “It’s the robber.”

Tied to a tree near the memorial was the robber. Blindfolded and gagged, wearing nothing but his white boxers. On his bare torso, drawn with a black marker pen, was a face of a cat.

“That damn Cat!” the sergeant said, putting her hands on her hips.


	2. Introductions

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I sigh in annoyance.

“Of all the places you got me to work, Auntie, you had to choose the place you work – a _school!_ ” I say to my Aunt Hermione as she drives us to St Hope’s High School, where she works as deputy headmistress.

“At least it’s a job where you’ll get paid. Unlike those voluntary jobs you did where they only paid for your lunch and transport,” she tells me.

“But a school? Really?!”

“You should be grateful that I got you this job. In a recession like this, you can’t afford to be picky. Besides, I can keep an eye on you at school, rather than me coming home and seeing you do nothing but watch TV, play video games or surfing the web while stuffing your face like a slob.”

“But why a teacher? Couldn’t I have been a receptionist or something?”

“What – so you can skive off on the computer all day, interacting with your friends on Stutter or Spacebook or whatever you kids go on these days? No, thank you. No, I want you to interact with real people. Besides, you already have some experience in the teaching field.”

“OK, first of all, I wasn’t a teacher, I was a nursery worker. And second, it was a two-week work experience that I did at high school.”

“It’s still makes you more than qualified to work in a secondary school than a nursery.”

“I’ll rather be working at that nursery than teaching and I quote from you, Auntie, ‘snotty, brain-dead, badly dressed kids who can’t learn how to spell their own name’.”

“Enough! Now you’ll be working as a teacher at St Hope’s and that is that!”

We sit silently for the rest of the journey. I cross my arms in a huff and I close my eyes. Even though my Aunt Hermione can be an uptight cow, she’s also right. I can’t be picky for the jobs I want. The only reason I was lumbered with this job is because after I graduated from university, I only had £100 in my account. So after spending my whole summer looking for a job, Aunt Hermione suggested it’ll be a good idea for me to work at the school she works – St Hope’s. Meaning I had to move out of my parent’s house in Islington to live with my Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie in Shepherd’s Bush. But what my family don’t know is that I’ve already got a job – one that I’ve had since before I started university. I’m a…

The car door slams shut.

I open my eyes and see that my aunt has already parked the car in the school’s car park. She’s standing outside the car, pointing at her watch saying, “Let’s go.”

I unbuckle my seat and climb out of the car. I stare at the building at where I’ll now be working. The school looked quaint and comfortable. Then I turn my attention to the students coming through the school gates. These students are not like any other, while some of the pupils were wearing the regulated school uniform; most of them had replaced their red sweaters with different coloured sweaters or hoodies, accessorising them with chunky wide belts and jewellery.

“What do you think?” Aunt Hermione asks me.

“Well, they certainly know how to dress for school,” I say. “They look like their dressed up for a fun day out.”

“You can talk! You’re dressed up like you’re about to go clubbing rather than a teacher.”

“I have you know, Auntie, that what I’m wearing is professional and stylish.”

Looking fabulous – as always – I am ready for whatever the day presents. I get an A for my career-ready and fashion-forward outfit: a white shirt printed with black bows, a bright blue jacket held close with a yellow sash, red denim skinny jeans with white stitching and pretty black shoes.

Aunt Hermione sighs and shakes her head at me, then leads me to the school. “And while you’re here, you’ll refer to me as Mrs. King, not Auntie,” she tells me. “Understand?”

“Yes, Mrs King,” I answer in a prim falsetto, like a five-year-old schoolgirl.

Aunt Hermione glares at me. I quickly avert her gaze as we enter the school.

xxoOoxx

We walk along the corridor to the head teacher’s office. Aunt Hermione enters the room and I follow behind. The head is sitting at his desk reading The Sun newspaper.

Aunt Hermione clears her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Flatley,” she says.

Mr. Flatley closes the newspaper in haste and quickly stands up from his chair. He’s a tall, middle-aged man, with fair closed cropped hair, blue eyes and glasses. He’s dressed in a dark grey suit with a navy blue tie. He seems like the opposite of Aunt Hermione – laid-back and easy-going. If you did anything bad at this school, I’m sure he won’t even notice, unlike Aunt Hermione.

“Oh, good morning, Mrs King,” he says. “How was your summer holiday?”

She spent five of the six weeks in a caravan park in Wales with Uncle Richie – and it rained… the entire time.

“It was quite pleasant, thank you,” she tells Mr. Flatley. “This is my niece, Jennifer Brownstone. She’ll be joining St Hope’s as a teacher.”

“Welcome, Miss Brownstone,” he says, extending his hand. “Mrs King has told me a lot about you.”

“Really? Well, Mrs King has told me some things about you, too, Mr. Flatley,” I say. Sweary, insulting things.

“How about I write up a timetable for you, Jenny?” Mrs King heads towards her computer on her desk and starts to type.

“How you seen this, Miss Brownstone?” Mr. Flatley hands me the newspaper. I see the front page headline, ‘CATCHA! – The Cat catches Mayfair Robber’. The headline came with a picture of the robber in his boxer shorts being led away by the police. “The Cat has done it again!”

I read the story out loud. “‘Mysterious vigilante crime-fighter, the Cat, has not only stopped the robber escaping with jewellery worth millions of pounds, but has also humiliated him by stripping him to his underwear and typing him to a tree, blindfolded and gagged, with a drawing of a cat’s face on his torso by the Queen Caroline Memorial in Hyde Park’.”

“She’s made a fool out of the Metropolitan Police by catching him before they could,” says Mr. Flatley. “And on top of that, she’s MI9’s second most wanted person.”

“The first being the Grandmaster,” I reply.

“Right, here we go,” says Aunt Hermione, handing me my timetable. “This is your timetable for the Year Tens.”

“Why them?” I ask.

“Well, since you’re not an actual qualified teacher, you’ll be working part-time, so you’ll be teaching one year group who, let’s just say, would understand and can communicate with someone almost their age.”

I look at my timetable. It looks pretty good, considering she’s assigned me to classes to which I did well in secondary school – Art, Music, IT, PE and English. I’ll be teaching Art on Fridays, Music will be on Mondays and Wednesdays (Wednesday being today), IT on Thursdays, PE on Mondays and Fridays and English on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Now that you’re sorted, I’ll take you to your classroom. It’s almost nine o’clock,” says Aunt Hermione.

“Good luck, Miss Brownstone,” says Mr. Flatley. I nod at him and follow my aunt out of the office.

We walk down the corridor as the bell rings, signalling the start of school. As we walk, Aunt Hermione sees a spilled Coca-Cola bottle of the floor and sighs heavily. I frown knowing it was a waste of good fizzy beverage.

“Honestly, these kids,” she huffs. “I’ll have to get Mr. London to clean this up.”

“Mr. London?” I enquire.

“Frank London is the school caretaker. I’ll be sure that at break time he’ll show you around the school.”

That’s all I need – a balding, tubby and unattractive dirty old man who takes more than a passive delight in young women changing in the locker rooms while he’s up a tree with binoculars showing me round the school.

“Here we are,” says Aunt Hermione, stopping outside a classroom. The sound of chatter and laughing reminds me of my schooldays. Ah, happy days. “Now you wait here, while I’ll go and introduce you.”

She goes inside and the talks and giggles that I heard five seconds ago abruptly stop.

“Good morning, class,” I hear her say.

“Good morning, Mrs King,” the class chorus.

“Today, we have a new teacher joining our school and she’ll be teaching this class. Please make her feel welcome – Miss Brownstone.”

I take a deep breath and turn the handle. In I go. I come into the classroom. The class diverts their attention to me. They stare transfixed, like I’ve got another head. I guess they wasn’t expecting a vibrant twentysomething teaching them, but a mousy thirtysomething singleton who still lives with her parents and their large number of cats or whatever animals living with them. I stand in front of the desk and nod my head.

“Hi!” I say, waving at the class.

“I’ll leave you to it,” says Aunt Hermione, as she leaves the room. I turn to the door where she gives me a little wave and clatter clatters down the corridor in her heels.

“Right!” I start, clapping my hands together, turning my attention to the class. “First things first…”

The class brace themselves.

“No-one is allowed to call me Miss Brownstone. It’s either Jenny or Jen, maybe Miss B, but not Miss Brownstone. I’m twenty-three, not thirty-three.”

The class sigh in relief and nod in agreement.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I suppose I should tell you about myself. Then I’m gonna pick random people and you’re gonna tell me your name and a bit about yourself. Also, since I won’t be able to remember everybody’s names, I’ll gonna give you nicknames. OK? So… I’m Jenny Brownstone. I enjoy reading comic books, playing video games and shopping and I know fuck all about teaching.”

There was a gasp and the class giggle at my outburst, while some were shocked that a teacher would swear in front of them.

“Cool!” says the boy with the furry hat. He’s sitting at the back with two other boys.

“Thanks,” I reply. “I hope no-one minds if I drop a few swear bombs.”

“Not at all, Miss B,” says the boy.

“Excellent! What’s your name?”

“Timothy Hinklebottom. But I go by my DJ name, Scoop Doggy. I enjoy rapping and spinning records and I hopes to become a DJ like Tim Westwood.”

“That’s great! And you’ve already got yourself a nickname so I don’t have to think of one. Right, who’s next?” I scan around the room until I stop a girl with a hime cut with a fuchsia flower clip in her hair, filing her nails. “You, there. What’s your name?”

The girl stops filing her nails and flicks her hair. “Davina Berry. I like shopping, fashion and watching reality TV shows, and I hope to become either a reality TV star or a WAG. Or both.”

“Then I shall name you TOWIE after the reality show. Next?” A smiley black girl in a grey St. Hope’s hoodie at the front shoots her hand up. “And you are…?”

“Carrie Stewart,” she chirps. “I’m a fitness freak and I hope to compete in the Olympic Games and win gold in gymnastics.”

“Very inspiring, Sunny. I decided to call you Sunny because I know that smile you’re sporting could brighten up anyone’s day.”  I notice the girl next to Sunny. She is of Indian descent with glasses reading a book about Quantum Physics. “What about you?”

“I’m Rose Gupta,” she says politely, closing the book. “I like science and I dream of winning the Nobel Prize in Physics.”

“Brains will be your name.” I point to the boy sitting next to TOWIE. “What’s your name at the back?”

“Donovan Butler,” he says. “I like football and would like to become the next David Beckham.”

“Then it’s obvious that you’ll have the same nickname as him, Golden Balls.” An emo girl near the door put her hand up. “Yes?”

“I’m Avril Franklin,” she says, putting her hand down. “I care about the environment, animal and human rights and I plan to become an environmentalist so I could stop all wars, poverty and sickness.”

“Very good. I’m gonna call you Mother Nature.” I spot the boy next to Mother Nature. He has shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. “How about you? What your name?”

“Oscar Cole,” he says. There’s a small pause.

“Don’t you have any ambitions or activities you like?” I ask.

Oscar says nothing. He shrugs his shoulders. Mother Nature nudges him.

“Come on, Oscar. There must be something,” she tells him.

“No, no, that’s fine,” I say. “I’m sure John Wayne here is thinking about what his ambitions will be.”

“John Wayne?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The actor. He was the epitome of what I call ‘the strong silent type’ – a man who would convey his resolve and power through a sturdy, deliberate silence. If you don’t like that, I can just call you Enigma. You’re like a riddle that can’t be solved.”

“You can say that again,” Mother Nature mutters.

“I’ll take Enigma, please,” he says.

“Right, Enigma it is.” I smile. Then I spend the next few minutes giving everyone in the class new nicknames. “Now we’re done with introductions, you guys can get back to whatever you were doing. If anyone wants me, I’ll be reading my Cosmo mag.”

I sit in the chair by the front desk and whip out my Cosmopolitan magazine from my bag. I rest my feet of the desk and start flicking through the pages. As I read, I can vaguely hear the students whisper to each other that I’m cool, I’m the best looking teacher in school and I’m the sort of teacher who would give them a sex education any day of the week. I smile to myself and continue reading until the bell goes for the next lesson which was Music. I follow the students to the Music Room as I have no clue where it is. As the class get settled, I suddenly realize that I actually have to _teach_ these kids about music. This isn’t like the last lesson where everyone gets to piss around and did whatever they want. Christ, everyone’s looking at me, waiting for me to start. I swallow. Here goes…

“Right…” I begin. “Let’s start with the obvious, shall we? Music… to us… is… an important part of our way of life. Common sayings such as “the harmony of the spheres” and “it is music to my ears” point to the notion that music is often ordered and pleasant to listen to.”

Some of the class nod in agreement. Good. It’s going well. So I continue.

“Performance is the physical expression of music. Often, a musical work is performed once its structure and instrumentation are satisfactory to its creators; however, as it gets performed, it can evolve and change. A performance can either be rehearsed or improvised. Improvisation is a musical idea created without premeditation, while rehearsal is vigorous repetition of an idea until it has achieved cohesion. So that’ll be your exercise for this lesson – either perform a song that you know or you can write your own song and perform that.”

“So what you’re saying is that today’s lesson is sort of like _The X Factor_?” TOWIE asks.

I pause, realizing that she’s right. “That is exactly what I’m saying. Pretend you’re auditioning for _The X Factor_ – I’ll be Simon Cowell. You can work by yourself or in a group. You can also use any of the instruments in the room. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Everyone gets stuck in straight away. I sigh in relief knowing that I could get away with teaching a lesson even though I know sod all. While everyone is practising their songs, I peer out of the window. It’s a dry day with sunny spells. The privet hedges of the suburban gardens over the road are cut into ugly arcs. The bedding plants are crude poster paint colours, set out in unattractive repeating patterns, like wallpaper. The trees have all been pollarded so their branches don’t wave in the wind. Suburban nature is not a pretty sight.

“Time’s up everyone,” I say after fifteen minutes. “Right, you’ve all been very busy. I hope songs you’ve got show me who you really are. Who wants to go first?”

Scoop’s hand goes up. “Me and my crew will go first.”

Scoop and his friends, Homie and JJ, make their way to the front. They decide to do their own song. I say song, it’s actually a glam rap, which I have to say is arguably a good way for them to be mainstream without losing ‘street cred’. Sure, they talk about the streets, but not necessarily in the same way as in other, more controversial rap genres. Then TOWIE (Davina) goes up next and does her interpretation of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance, complete with choreography. Next was Mother Nature (Avril), though the song that she chose to create sounded like poetry about the night. But it’s good, very Gothic, a total stormy night with bats flying and cats stalking and trees tapping on windows and flashes of lightning like spears from hell and the crash of thunder as the devil rides out.

“You’ve really tried hard, Mother Nature. Well done,” I say. “Anyone else want to go up and perform?”

Everyone goes quiet. No-one else wants to perform.

“Come on, guys,” I request. “You’ve all known each other since Year Seven. You can’t be that embarrassed to perform in front of each other?”

The class still feel nervous.

“How about if I perform a song I like to show you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about?” I suggest. I notice a piano in the corner by the window and I push it in the middle of the room. “I’ll be performing Beyoncé’s Love on Top.”

Cracking my fingers, I launch myself into the introduction and when it finishes, I open my mouth and start singing.

_“Honey, honey; I can see the stars all the way from here…”_

My voice fills the music room. It feels so big and powerful I picture it spilling out, flooding the corridors, bursting out of the windows, rushing in a torrent along the roads until the whole street is awash with the sound. Maybe far, far away in Tibet, the Dalai Lama is listening.

When I finish, I’m rewarded with a warm round of applause and cheering, with Scoop giving a piercing whistle.

“Quieten down, everyone!” I turn to the door and see Aunt Hermione with a tall, dark and handsome man wearing dark blue overalls and glasses. “What is going on here?”

“Oh, hi, Aunt… I mean Mrs King,” I say, forgetting what Aunt Hermione told me this morning. There’s a stifled gasp as the class whisper to one another. I probably should have them that their deputy headmistress is my aunt. “I was teaching these guys that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about performing in front people you know.”

“Mm,” she hums.

“So… what brings you here?” I ask, walking up to her.

“I just wanted to see how you are coping with your pupils. But it seems that you’re all getting on like a house on fire. Also, I would like to introduce to Mr. Frank London – the caretaker.”

Frank stretches his hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to meet you Miss Brownstone,” he says.

I blink at him. He is _so_ not the person I was expecting to look like.

“Jenny?” says Aunt Hermione, snapping me out of my trance.

I clear my throat. “Sorry about that. It's nice to meet you too... Frank,” I say, shaking his hand.

School has officially just got interesting.


	3. My Secret

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Its morning break and Frank is showing me around the school as I’ve finished teaching for the day. But I’m not listening. I keep mentally telling myself to never ever judge a book by cover. Frank is not the person I’d thought he is. He is quite young, probably in his thirties. He’s lean and fairly well-built, with slicked back dark brown hair tied in a low ponytail. He’s wearing round-rimmed glasses, à la Harry Potter, and his stubble lines his sharp jaw. But cute as he is, I can’t get together with him. Not with the big secret I’m holding. I don’t want him to know that I’m…

“Miss Brownstone!” Frank calls me out of my thoughts. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine…” I squeak. I clear my throat. “I mean I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

“You sure?”

“Actually, no.” I decide to come clean. “It’s just – and please don’t take this the wrong way – but it’s just… you wasn’t how I pictured in my head.”

“Oh? How did you picture me?”

“Older… balder… fatter… and pervy.”

Frank smiles. I giggle stupidly. “Pretty stupid, right?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought you would be someone who I pictured in my head, too.”

“Who?”

“I thought you were the kind of person that would drink heavily, smoke marijuana and only show movies while sleeping through class.”

“Like the character Cameron Diaz played in _Bad Teacher_?”

Frank nods. “Exactly.”

“Well, I guess that taught us not to judge a book by its cover.”

“Yeah.”

As we continue to walk around the school, I can feel Frank staring at me. I glance at him, but he looks away. It’s obvious what he’s thinking about.

“She’s married to my mum’s brother,” I say.

“What?” he says.

“That’s how Mrs King is my aunt. She’s married to my mum’s brother. That’s what you wanted to ask me, right?”

“No. Of course not.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“OK, yes.”

“Thought so,” I say with a smile. “Look, I know Auntie can be harsh, but she’s like that because she wants what’s best for everybody.”

I then explain to Frank that when Aunt Hermione was a child, her dad ran out on the family. So since she was the oldest, she had to look after her brother and two sisters while her mum had to work two jobs.

“Oh. Wow, I didn’t know that,” he says.

“Oh, you weren’t meant to know.” I wave him away. “But if you repeat what I said to anyone, I will come after you.”

“I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart.”

I laugh at his comment. We continue to walk around the school long after the bell signalling the end of break goes off. Ten minutes after the bell rung, Frank and I end up by a staircase that leads to caretaker’s storage cupboard.

“Well, that’s it for the tour,” says Frank. I try not to pout – I didn’t want it to end. “Since you’ve finished teaching for the day, what will you be doing for the last bell?”

“I suppose I could go into town, do a bit window shopping at Westfield,” I say. “Or I could, I don’t know… continue hanging out with you?”

Before Frank can answer, his mobile goes off. As does mine. I reach into the back of my jeans pocket and pull out my mobile. One unread message. I unlock my phone and read the text.

_Call me by the school gates – Z_

I knew exactly what that text meant.

“Who’s that?” Frank asks me.

“Oh, it’s my sister, Livi,” I lie. “She’s bored so she wants to hang out with me. What about you? Who was that?”

“Mr. Flatley,” he says. “There’s a drain blockage that needs unclogging in one of the toilets.”

I wrinkle my nose, not wanting to imagine how bad the blockage is.

“So… I guess I’ll see you later,” he says.

“Yeah. You, too.” I exit the staircase and make my way down the corridor.

I didn’t mean to lie to Frank, but it’s the only way I could make this excuse for what I’m doing. I haven’t being honest about who I am. The text message that I received on my phone meant I had to call “Z” about my next mission. Yes, that’s right. I’m the Cat. I’m the one who stopped that robber and humiliated him last night. I’ve been doing this gig since I left college. I spent my gap year training to become the crime-fighter that I am now. While my family think that I was searching for jobs during my three years at university, I was actually busy fighting off the bad guys. The person who trained me is Zeke Williams. That’s what the Z stands for in the text. He was a former child prodigy who began college at the age of eleven, started graduate studies at fourteen, and earned a PhD in Engineering at sixteen from Cambridge University. As well as training me, Zeke arranges missions for me, supplies me with various gadgets and arranges transportation.

I come out of the school and jog across the playground to the gates. I call Zeke on my utility watch and his holographic face appears.

“Ah, Jenny,” he says. “How was your first day of teaching?”

“You texted me to come out to the school gates to ask me that? I’m hanging up,” I say, ready to disconnect.

“Why? So you can go back and hang with your new friend, the caretaker?”

I start to feel hot around the cheeks. I forget that Zeke can hack into anything – including CCTV footage.

“Right. That’s it!”

“No, no. Come on, Jen, I was only messing,” he says. I reconsider my decision of hanging up on him. “By the way, I’ve read the papers. Congrats on yet another foiled robbery. You know how to humiliate men, don’t you?”

“You don’t think I went too far?”

“Per-lease! Tying a robber up to a tree in nothing but his boxers with a cat face drawn on his torso? No way!”

“I’m sure you didn’t text me to talk about last night, did you?”

“Nah. Take a look at this footage from the Bank of England museum at three o’clock this morning.”

Zeke’s hologram is replaced with CCTV footage of the vault. The vault contained safe deposit boxes. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened until one and a half minutes into the footage when a blur snatches two of the deposit boxes. What the hell?! Seconds later, the blur comes back and steals two more deposit boxes. Within minutes, the blurry robber had left the vault half empty.

“What the hell was that, Zeke?” I demand.

“That, Jen was a robber with fast feet,” he replies. “The robber only took the boxes that contained gemstones, precious metals and computer data storage.”

“Don’t tell me that my mission is to catch this guy? How the hell am I meant to do that?”

A Parcelforce van stops outside the school. A man with dark hair with moustache and blue eyes climbs out of the van with a parcel.

“Parcel for Jennifer Brownstone?” he asks. I put my hand up and nod. “Sign here, please.”

I sign my name for the parcel.

“Cheers. Have a nice day.” The man returns to the van and drives off.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” I say, confused.

“Your gadgets are in that parcel,” Zeke informs me. “They contain your Jetpack Backpack and a little doo-hicky I call the Slo-Mo Bomb. Hollow, cherry-sized spheres that’ll slow down anything.”

I open that parcel and pull out my flight pack and a small see-through satchel bag containing the Slo-Mo Bombs.

“Looks like I better get changed,” I say. I press the blue button of my watch and within a flash; I’m in my catsuit, complete with cat ears, mask and utility belt. I strap the backpack onto my back and pocket the bombs in one of the pockets of the belt.

“I’m gonna go and check out the vault to see if this quicksilver left any clues. I don’t think the Bank of England museum will be his only target,” I say.

“I’ll be checking out any buildings he might try and go for. Be careful, Jen,” says Zeke, switching off.

And with that, I jetpack and the airplane wings of the backpack extend outwards. The backpack splits open, exposing the engine and igniting the flames. I launch myself into the air and I make my way to the Bank of England.

**(Frank’s POV)**

After watching Jenny leave down the corridor, I make my way down the stairs to the storage cupboard, but not to collect the equipment needed to unblock the toilet. There is no blockage. I didn’t mean to lie to Jenny, but I can’t actually tell her what the message on my phone was about. And I can’t tell her that I’m not actually a caretaker – that’s a cover. I’m actually an MI9 agent. The text that I received was from Director Francine Fairchild, the head of MI9. She said that there has been a bizarre robbery at the Bank of England museum and she wants my agents to look into it. My agents are students who attend this school – Rose Gupta, Carrie Stewart and Oscar Cole. They’re part of the MI9 project called MI High: school pupils, who work as undercover spies, as other spies’ covers have either been rumbled, revealed or the person has retired.

Reaching the door of the storage cupboard, I slide open the light switch by the door of the door, revealing the thumbprint scanner. Placing my thumb on the pad, the small light above it flashes green giving me entry to the room. Closing the door behind me, I reach out for the mop handle by the door and pull it towards me. An alarm sounds for five seconds before the floor underneath me gives out. As I travel down the elevator at a speed of 100mph, my overalls are replaced by a blue suit and a black and white patterned shirt. My glasses are gone and my hair is let down. After my change, the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open. Stepping into MI9 HQ, two hundred and thirty feet below the school, I ring-drop Rose, Carrie and Oscar on their pencil communicators. After a few rings, I hang up and make up way to the lab to get the gadgets needed for this mission.

After finding the perfect gadget, I sit by the three computer screens and start thinking about Jenny. She’s not like any girl I know. The girls during my time in university were a tad too serious. I mean they were pretty and very clever, but they didn’t know the meaning of having fun – unless in their own world, their definition of having fun was studying all weekend on that paper on mathematics and esoteric-looking equations. But Jenny isn’t like that – she’s smart and sassy, and full of spirit; fun. But most of all, she’s cute.

_SWOOSH!_

I hear the elevator doors, open breaking my thoughts. I turn on the swivel chair and see that Carrie, Oscar and Rose have arrived, their school uniforms replaced by their black spy uniforms. I stand up, grabbing the remote for the computer screens. Time for the briefing.

“Team, take a look at this,” I say, switching the middle screen on with the remote.

CCTV footage of the vault at the Bank of England museum appears on the screen. The room is filled with artefacts in their display cases.

“What are we meant to be looking at, Frank?” Carrie asks.

“Keep watching,” I say, not taking my eyes off the screen.

A minute later, a strange-looking blur snatches a few objects from the display cases.

“Whoa!” Oscar exclaimed.

“What was that?” Rose asks.

Seconds later, the blur takes two more deposit boxes. Within a matter of minutes, the exhibition room is empty.

“What just happened?” Carrie asks, not believing in what she saw.

“That, Carrie was a speedy bank robber making off with valuable possessions worth millions,” I say.

“But how did they manage to empty a room in minutes?” Oscar asks.

“My guess is this person possesses a pair of running shoes which allows them to run at fast speed,” Rose states.

“Either that or Usain Bolt decided to use his sprinting skills for evil,” Carrie remarks.

“I think you know what your mission is,” I say. “Find out who this person is and stop them.”

“And how are we meant to do that, Frank? This person is like Speedy Gonzales.”

“I have the thing for this.” I grab two aerosol spray cans from the desk. “This is the Aero-Slo Spray Can –one spray and anything or anyone will be slowed down to a snail’s pace.”

“Cool!” says Carrie, taking the cans.

“We better head to the Bank of England museum to see if the robber left any clues,” says Oscar.

“I’m gonna stay here and see if I can slow the footage to see who this robber is,” Rose suggests.

Nodding in agreement, Oscar and Carrie leave HQ via elevator, while Rose sits down by the computers and starts typing away. Clearing my throat, I move to the lab where I begin to draft new ideas for another pet project. After a few minutes, I realized that all I’ve drawn on this paper is Jenny’s name, hearts and Frank + Jenny in the heart drawings. As much as I want to distract myself in work, Jenny is the person that I’m thinking about. Attractive, intelligent and quick-witted. I can’t help but wonder what else could make this girl anymore special.


	4. Danni Dashiell

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I land in an alleyway located near the back entrance of the Bank of England Museum. Upon landing, the airplane wings and the engine conceal themselves back into the backpack. I quietly creep along the walls of the building where I poke my head out of the corner to see four officers of the MI9 SWAT team, looking a bit bored.

“This should be easy,” I whisper to myself.

Stepping out of sight, I use my watch to activate a cloaking device. In seconds I am rendered invisible. I step out of the alleyway and make my way to the back entrance where the SWAT officers were guarding. Before I step into the museum I walk up to one of the officers and I start making silly faces at him. He doesn’t take any notice. I go to the next officer and I stick my tongue out at him. Nothing. Smirking, I continue to make more silly faces, than sticking my middle fingers at them before finishing off by flicking the V’s at them.

That never gets old.

Satisfied, I step through the entrance and make my way down the corridor. I find another door at the end of the corridor that leads down a short corridor to the rotunda. The entrance is taped off. But I duck under the tape and I find myself in the rotunda area. Upon entry, I notice that no-one is around. No MI9 agents have arrived yet, so I’ve only got a few minutes. I turn my attention to the pyramid-shaped glass case, now smashed to pieces, where the gold bars were. I deactivate the cloaking device and make my way to the case, jumping over the iron guardrails.

I check the broken case to see if the robber left any clues behind. Nothing is there. I walk around the case, where I notice there was a torn piece of terrycloth with a badge attached to it lying among the shards of glass on the floor. Crouching by the badge, being extra careful not to cut myself on the glass, I see that the badge had a profile of a white skull with one red eye. It was a SKUL badge. Of course they would be behind this. I place the terrycloth on my watch and have the screen scan the material. Maybe Zeke can find out who this badge belongs to.

“Well, it looks like I’m about done here,” I say, standing up.

“My thoughts exactly,” says a voice.

A freeze on the spot, surprised. I recognise that voice. He managed to sneak up on me. Very subtle.

“Turn around. Hands behind your head,” he instructs.

I place my hands on the back of my head and I slowly turn around to face…

“Chief Agent Stark,” I say. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise?”

“So… we meet again, Cat,” Stark smirks. He’s standing behind the guardrails, with two MI9 SWAT officers behind him blocking the entrance to the next room. “And this time, I’ve caught you in the act.”

“Actually, you caught me scanning items. Not stealing valuable collections of notes and coins, silver and a genuine bar of gold like our quicksilver bank robber did.”

“I mean… after all these years of seeing you flee the scene, making fools out of the police and MI9, and making those stupid jokey comments and drawings that you do, I’ve finally caught up with you. And I’m gonna take great pleasure in cuffing you up and throwing you in jail, where you belong.”

“Wow,” I say, pretending to be stunned. “Well, Stark, I always thought that MI9 would never catch up to me, but I guess I was proven wrong. All I can say is congratulations, Stark. You’ve finally caught me.”

Stark smirks in triumph. “Any last words before I cuff you?”

“Only this. Think fast!” I throw two Slo-Mo Bombs that I had hidden in my hair at the pillars that the two SWAT officers were standing by. A forceful jet of white smoke surrounds the officers. As they s-l-o-w-l-y reach for their guns, Stark turns his attentions to me. Before he can react, I hit him square on the nose with a superman punch.

“Argh, my nose!” Stark cries, staggering back and holding his nostrils to stop the blood. “You broke my nose!”

I hear heavy footsteps coming from the fire exit behind me. I turn to see the four SWAT officers who were guarding the back entrance blocking the doorway that I came through, their guns pointing at me.

“Don’t just stand there, shoot her!” Stark orders, still holding his nose.

I activate the cloaking device – and my body is rendered invisible before they had the chance to fire at me. The officers, bewildered, begin to fan out and search the room. Quietly as I can be, I jump over the guardrails and make my way to the fire exit. Before I leave these douchebags in the lurch, I set a tripwire across the doorway. I reach into my utility belt and scatter several Slo-Mo Bombs on the floor of the small corridor. Deactivating the cloaking device, I stand by the other side of the corridor and whistle at the officers.

“Yoo-hoo! Boys!” I call.

The four SWAT officers look up and see me blowing kisses at them and winking. The first two officers come through the door – but trip on the tripwire, knocking them out. The other two officers jump over their unconscious colleagues – but unknowingly step on the Slo-Mo Bombs, causing them to slow down.

“Well, I’ve enjoyed this little game we had going on, but I’ve got things to do, criminals to catch. Later, losers!” I say, and make my exit.

Upon exiting, I activate my jetpack backpack and take off, leaving behind the Bank of England Museum. After a few minutes of flying, I land on the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, where I need to catch my breath. My heart still banging away like crazy from all the excitement. As I sit on the concrete roof, leaning against the stone wall, I can’t help but laugh. Laughing at those SWAT officers that are in slow motion and laughing even louder at Stark whining, crying and blowing his top that a) he has a broken nose from the punch and b) that I got away again. My hand hurts like hell, but it’s worth punching Stark. He’s a smug little shit anyway.

I hear a beep on my watch – that’ll be Zeke. After calming down from laughing, I answer.

“Hey, Zeke. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Jen,” he replies. “It’s going good. What about you?”

“Oh, you know – the usual. Stark was being smug thinking that he caught me, so I went and socked him and got away like I usually do.” I sigh. “Anyhoo, did you get anything from the terrycloth?”

“Yeah. The terrycloth came from a wrist sweatband belonging to this person.”

A dossier appears on the screen. With the file is a photo of a woman in her mid-forties with short brown hair and green eyes. I know exactly who that woman is.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim. “That’s Danni Dashiell.”

“Who?” Zeke quizzes.

“Danni ‘The Dash’ Dashiell was a former Olympian track sprinter and one of the fastest Europeans in the history of athletics. At least, that what we all thought she was. Ten years ago, she was given a life ban for taking banned substances. She was stripped of her medals and her prizes were taken away. She disappeared out of the limelight and no-one has seen or heard from her since. Until now.”

“Now she’s working for SKUL. Stealing money, precious artefacts, and artworks from over three hundred years ago. Diamonds…”

“Hang on. Diamonds?”

“Yeah. Less than ten minutes ago, jewellery stores all around the West End were emptied out by Dashiell.”

“Crap,” I sigh. “If Stark didn’t hold me up, I could have stopped her.”

“How? You’re in Bank and she’s in the West End. There’s no way you could have flown there in time to stop her.”

“You’re right, Zeke. Anyway, we need to find out what Dashiell’s next target will be. It has to be somewhere that’s more valuable than diamonds and gold bars. Somewhere that attracts everyone. Somewhere like…”

“The Tower of London?” Zeke presumes.

“Of course – the Crown Jewels. I’m on it!”

“Be careful, Jen. Remember, she’s got the speed.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got the reflexes.”

I switch off from Zeke. Standing up, I take off once again and make my way to the Tower of London.

**(Frank’s POV)**

As I continue to daydream about Jenny, I hear Rose sigh in frustration. Leaving the lab, I go over to her, where she is still sitting by the computers.

“I’ve been trying to slow the footage to see the robber’s face for the last half hour, but they’re just too fast,” she mutters.

“I’m sure Carrie and Oscar will find something at the museum that’ll tell us who this person is,” I say, sitting next to Rose. “Why don’t you take a break? You’re been sitting in front of the screen for far too long and it can’t be good for your eyes.”

“OK.” Rose stands up and stretches, then goes to the lab to get herself a snack from the mini fridge. “Frank?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

I turn on my swivel chair to see Rose holding the sheet of paper containing the scribbles of me and Jenny. My eyes widen.

“I – gah – w – um –” I stammer. I feel my face flooding scarlet.

“Isn’t Jenny Mrs King’s niece?” Rose questions.

“N-no, she’s not! She’s… she’s, um…” I sigh in defeat. “OK. Yes, Jenny is Mrs King’s niece.”

“And you like her?”

“It’s just a small crush.”

“Frank, you’ve drawn a doodle of you and her kissing.” She points to the bottom right corner of the paper.

I move my chair to Rose and snatch the paper from her hands, scrunching it up. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’ll be getting together with her anytime soon. I don’t think Mrs King will appreciate her niece going out with the school caretaker.”

“That’s just it, Frank. Mrs King is Jenny’s aunt, not her mum. She can’t tell Jenny who she can and can’t go out with. Besides, I’m sure Jenny has a soft spot for you as well.”

I smile in assurance. Rose is right. Jenny may have a soft spot for me. She wanted to spend the rest of the day with me before I was called away to this. I straighten up the paper and look at the doodle of me and Jenny kissing. I go into a private dream where it’s just me and Jenny walking hand in hand down by the river. I hold her hand while we’re walking along the street but when we get to the secluded riverside I pull her close, my arms go around her, and I kiss those soft, plump lips…

I must be mad. I’ve only just met her and already I’m thinking about what it’ll like to kiss her. Her neck, her ears, her mouth…

I jump when I hear Oscar’s voice on the radio. “Guys, something weird has happened at the museum.”

I move my chair to the computers and grab the microphone. “What do mean ‘weird’?”

“Carrie and I are at the rotunda area of the museum and it seems the SWAT officers are being a bit slow.”

“How slow?”

“Slow as in if I would spray the Aero-Slo at them slow. It looks like someone has been here before us.”

“The Cat,” Rose responds with a sigh. “She’s investigating this case, too.”

I hear someone crying in the background. “Oscar, who is that?”

“Chief Agent Stark,” Carrie replies on the radio. “As well as using a gadget to slow down the SWAT officers, she sucker-punched Stark and broke his nose. There’s blood everywhere. It’s like something from a horror movie.”

“Stark and the SWAT officers must have tried to apprehend her, so she punched Stark and slowed the officers down,” Rose deduces.

“She was looking for clues on who robbed the museum. And now she knows,” I say.

“And now so do we,” says Oscar. “I’ve used the Spy-Pod to scan a piece of terrycloth that probably came from a sweatband. The robber’s name is Danni Dashiell.”

“I’ve heard of her,” says Carrie. “She was a former Olympic track sprinter who was stripped of her medals because she was tested positive for taking banned substances. No-one has seen or heard from her.”

“Now she works for SKUL. I found their badge that came with the terrycloth.”

“How did a former Olympic athlete come across SKUL? Stealing unique collections of banknotes, coins and gold bars for them?”

“Now she’s stolen diamonds.” I turn to the screen that Rose is looking at. It’s CCTV footage of a jewellery shop with all the staff looking completely baffled. “All the diamonds and other precious gems from every jewellery store in the West End have been cleared out by Dashiell.”

“We need to figure out where Dashiell will be going next,” says Oscar. “But where could she go?”

“It’ll have to be somewhere challenging,” says Carrie. “And a place that everyone knows.”

After a few seconds Rose and I come to the same conclusion. “The Tower of London!”

“She’ll be after the Crown Jewels,” Rose declares.

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” says Oscar, switching off.

“I’m gonna join them,” says Rose.

“I’ll try and find out where Dashiell could have hidden the valuables. Some of the jewels might have a tracking device on them,” I suggest.

Nodding, Rose heads for the elevator and leaves HQ, while I start typing away on the computer. As I type, I can’t help but wonder what Jenny is up to now.


	5. Speed vs. Reflexes

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It takes me less than ten minutes to get to the Tower of London from St. Barts Hospital. Arriving over the Tower, I see that everything looks in order and there is no sign of Dashiell.

_SMASH!_

Had to jinx myself, didn’t I?

The people below are screaming as a blur blitz past them. It’s Dashiell – and she’s got the Crown Jewels. I see her (if you pardon the pun) dashing her way across to the courtyard, knocking down tourists and Beefeaters. She stops at the Tower Wharf, where there’s a speedboat waiting for her. She jumps in and she makes her getaway.

Activating the cloaking device once again, my body becomes invisible and I follow Dashiell, hoping that she’ll lead me to where she hidden the diamonds, jewellery and the others items she stole.

xxoOoxx

Over half an hour later, Dashiell pulls up the speedboat to a pier in West Silverton in London’s East End, near a derelict warehouse called the Millennium Mills. Landing, I see Dashiell climb out of the speedboat along with the bag containing the Crown Jewels and heading into the warehouse. I follow not that far behind her, messaging Zeke that I’ve located the stolen valuables and that he should kindly pass this information to MI9. Normally I wouldn’t get MI9 helping me as it’s often the other way round, but it would be difficult for me to return the valuables back to way they belong whilst carrying Dashiell to MI9 headquarters.

As I enter the decaying industrial building, the stench of urine, rats, bird crap and possibly a rotting corpse burn my nostrils and fill my lungs up like whoa. I cover my nose and continue to follow Dashiell, trying ever so hard not to throw up.

I follow Dashiell up to the first floor where I see in the middle of the room a large table that has the priceless collection from the Bank of England Museum and the diamonds from the West End jewellery stores. I hide behind a pillar not far from the table, deactivating the cloaking device. Poking my head out, I see Dashiell opening the bag and bringing out the Crown Jewels and placing them on the table. She brings out her phone and dials.

“Grandmaster, it’s Dashiell,” she says. “I have the Crown Jewels and the others right here. Thank you, sir. OK. See you in twenty.”

Hanging up her phone, I step out from the pillar. “The Grandmaster is not gonna get his grubby hands on those valuables.”

Dashiell looks up and gasps. “It’s you. You’re the Cat.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“The Grandmaster has told me about you. You’re the vigilante who mocks the police and MI9.”

“I like to see myself as a masked individual who lends a helping hand to the police and MI9. Oh, and speaking of the Grandmaster, how did a dressing gown wearing, bunny handling dick like him come across a disgraced former Olympian like you?”

“If you must know, _I_ approached him. After my fans turned on me and the media chewed me up and spat me out like slate-flavoured bubblegum, I went into hiding. About six months later, I saw an ad in the paper saying that they were looking for individuals who thought that the world hated them – and they do – to work for a mysterious masked villain. So I answered the ad and went along to SKUL headquarters where I’ve been working as an underling before becoming SKUL’s expert burglar.”

“So all these years you were working for SKUL – amassing them a fortune in stolen items?”

“And it’s all thanks to these running shoes that the boys in the SKUL lab made for me by request of the Grandmaster.”

I look at her shoes. They are red and black running shoes, with SKUL’s logo on the sides.

“They do look awesome,” I admit.

“Yes, they are,” Dashiell agrees. “And now, I’m gonna use these to kick your arse as a consolation prize for the Grandmaster. Acceleration mode!”

My cat-like instincts come to life as Dashiell charges towards me, and I dodge out of the way. Skidding to a halt, Dashiell charges towards me again but this time I grab her arm and throw her across the room and into the wall. Dashiell’s impact with the wall causes some debris from the ceiling to fall. Dashiell stands up and shakes her head to get rid of the debris.

“Nnngh, why you little…!” she growls as she charges towards me once again, her hand balled into a fist as it’s ready to punch me. I dodge her fist but she tries again and I dodge it again.

“Uuuugh! Arrgh!” She tries to throw multiple punches at me dozens (if not hundreds or thousands) of times a second to the point that her fists became blurred, but my super reflexes react faster than normal and I dodge the blows…

That is until she clips my chin, causing me to fall backwards.

“Yes! I landed a blow! How’s that, Miss Pussy Cat!?” Dashiell cheers.

But her victory is short-lived as I grab her then turns on my back, throwing Dashiell over my head.

“NKYAAAH!” she screams as she’s tossed across the room – and crashes on the floor, causing more debris to fall.

“Uhh…” I groan. Standing up, I dust myself off and make my way to Dashiell who is staggering to the table with the stolen valuables. “Look, Dashiell. How about you stop this foolishness and turn yourself in? I’m sure MI9 will go easy on you.”

Dashiell sniffles. Sounds like she’s crying. “OK… I’ll turn myself in,” she whispers.

I sigh in relief. “Attagirl.”

“As soon as I kill you!” Dashiell hollers. She storms towards me, brandishing a sword from the Crown Jewels in her hands. Quick as a flash, I reach for the canister on my utility belt and pour out the Slo-Mo Bombs all over the floor, causing Dashiell to step on them.

As I watch Dashiell charge s-l-o-w-l-y for me, I take this opportunity to remove her speedy and awesome SKUL shoes. Placing them on the table I call Zeke on my watch and tell him that I’ve got Dashiell and the stolen fortunes are here and accounted for. Hanging up, I hear the sirens echoing outside. MI9 have arrived.

Picking up the remaining Slo-Mo Bombs that Dashiell didn’t step on, I make my way to an open window. Activating my jetpack backpack, I take one last look at Dashiell who turns her head to me, pissed. But I don’t care. Giving her the finger, I jump out of the window and take off, flying back to St. Hope’s. But not before I need to do some last-minute clothes shopping. And it has to be a crap-load of shopping as I told Frank that Livi has taken me shopping for the afternoon.

Speaking of Frank, I wonder what he’s doing.

**(Frank’s POV)**

“Team, I’ve received an anonymous message from that Danni Dashiell is hiding out in a disused warehouse in West Silvertown, East London,” I tell Oscar, Rose and Carrie on my phone. “She may also have the stolen fortunes with her. Get yourselves down there. I’ll see you there.”

Hanging up, I leave HQ and sneak out of St Hope’s, hoping I don’t bump into Mr. Flatley or worse, Mrs King. Coming out of the school, I see a MI9 van waiting for me. I jog across the playground and climb in the back of the van where we set off for West Silvertown.

xxoOoxx

Almost an hour later, we finally arrive in West Silvertown. Coming out of the van with a SWAT team, I spot Oscar, Rose and Carrie by the entrance of a derelict mill. I make my way over to them.

“Why are you guys out here?” I ask them.

“Chief Agent Stark said that we had to wait for him,” says Rose, crossing her arms.

“And that was fifteen minutes ago!” Carrie utters.

“Look, here he is now,” says Oscar.

I look over my shoulder and see Chief Agent Stark coming towards us. His nose is covered in white gauze and tape that is covered by elastic knitted fabric tied up to the back of his head. He looks so ridiculous – I place my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.

“You think this is funny, London?” Stark demands as he approaches me.

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you, sir,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I was, erm… I was thinking about a joke someone told me.”

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

Stark enters the building. Oscar, Rose, Carrie and I follow behind, holding our noses. Not only because the building smelt disgusting and decaying but also to stifle our laughs. I can hear Stark sighing in frustration and muttering under his breath. We reach the first floor of the warehouse where we are greeted with Dashiell moving in slow motion.

“Whoa,” says Rose, stunned.

“No guessing on who came on stopped Dashiell,” Carrie says.

“That would explain the anonymous message,” I say.

“Arrgh!” Stark clenches his fists in frustration. “I hate that stupid Cat! Why can’t she leave us alone? We were doing fine before she came along!”

“Hey, look,” says Oscar, pointing. “The stolen fortune.”

We walk over to a large table and we see the Crown Jewels, the gems and the Bank of England Museum collections. Also on the table are Dashiell’s running shoes.

“It seems like everything is here,” says Rose. “Including Dashiell’s running shoes that she used to steal the fortunes.”

“Yeah,” Carrie says, looking gloomy.

“What’s wrong, Carrie?” I ask.

“I can’t help but think that this mission was a bit of a washout,” she says. “I mean, _we_ were the ones who are supposed to catch Dashiell. But once again, the Cat beats us to the punch.”

“Carrie’s right,” Oscar concurs. “We never even got to use the Aero-Slo Spray Can.”

“Which is why we need to apprehend the Cat for undertaking the law into her own hands,” says Stark. “Now don’t stand there gossiping like old ladies… get these valuables back to their rightful places! And can someone please put that slowcoach Dashiell in cuffs?”

After we arrest Dashiell, we spend the next two hours returning the Crown Jewels to the Tower of London, the artefacts and collections to the Bank of England Museum and the diamonds and gems to all the jewellery stores in the West End.

xxoOoxx

We return back to St Hope’s where Oscar, Rose and Carrie return to their classes and I return to my mop and bucket and clean the corridor. While I’m mopping, I can hear the sound of a piano playing. Stopping what I’m doing, I follow the sound. It’s coming from the assembly hall. I poke my head in the assembly hall and see that it’s Jenny playing the piano. Quietly as I can be, I gently push open the door and I creep in, gently closing the door behind me. I lean against the wall, my arms crossed and I continue to listen to Jenny playing the piano. She looks amazing, she plays amazing too. She also knows how to shop too. She has several bags lying beside her. She looks like she is in her own little world as she plays. Then Jenny takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and starts to sing.

_“Oh, thinkin’ about our younger years…”_

Wow, Jenny has got an amazing voice – I mean she can sing. In a voice that I hardly recognize as being her own. It’s like when I heard her this morning during her music lesson. Her voice mesmerizes me like a spell. Clear. True. Pitch perfect. No effort at all. Like magic.

When she’s finished there’s a comfortable silence. Then Jenny opens her eyes and sees me.

“Jesus!” she cries, putting her hand on her chest. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I say, walking to the stage. “It’s just… you’ve got an amazing voice and I was fascinated by it.”

Jenny blushes. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

“That was ‘Heaven’ you were singing, right?”

“Yes – but it’s the Candlelight Mix by DJ Sammy and Do.”

When I reach the stage, Jenny pulls out a bottle from one of her shopping bags and sprays it over the stage and then over me. I look at her confused as she places the bottle back into the bag.

“Erm, why did you do that?” I ask.

Jenny sits on the stage, swinging her legs over the stage. “You’re a forgetful one, aren’t you? You told me that there was a toilet drain that needed unblocking.”

I blink a few times, finally remembering what I told her. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“You’re a bit of a scatterbrain, aren’t you?”

“I guess you could say that I am.” I climb on the stage and sit beside Jenny, trying like mad to think of something to say or talk about.

I glance at Jenny. She catches me looking – and smiles. I clear my throat and look away, trying not to blush.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you, Frank?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m trying to think of something intelligent to say.”

“We could always start with the basics. How about you tell me about yourself and I’ll do the same.”

We spend the next couple of hours getting to know one another. Even after the bell signalling the end of school, we continue to talk. I listen with interest as Jenny talks about her love for art and how she wants to become a comic book artist. I listen as she tells me everything about herself. I take in every bit of information about her like a sponge. She’s so amazing – from her talents to her ambitions. Then I tell her about me – but I wasn’t gonna tell Jenny that I’m an MI9 agent working undercover as a caretaker, so I make up a story about me dropping out of school when I was fifteen and working in many odd jobs before becoming a caretaker for St Hope’s. She’s fascinated by the story I tell her, though in truth, I actually left school with nine A-Levels – all A’s. Then attended Oxford University where I studied for my Bachelor of Science degree that I got a first in, and then pursued a master’s degree in Engineering Science where I got a first in that as well.

Yawning, Jenny takes a look at her watch. “Wow! Look at the time. It’s after five. Auntie Hermione must be finished right about now. I should get going.”

She gets up on the stage to collect her shopping, while I slip off the stage. I help collect the shopping bags from her and lay them on the floor next to me.

“Here, let me help you down,” I offer, holding out my hands.

Her hands are just like her: soft and warm. I take a step back as Jenny jumps off the stage.

“There we go!” she says as she lands. We’re still holding hands. But I didn’t want to let go. Her hands are gentle, just like her. This would be one of those romantic scenarios where we would kiss and declare our love for each other.

Instead, she says this: “Frank, we’re still holding hands.”

“Oh! Sorry,” I say, letting go, feeling like a complete numpty.

“Like I said, you’re a bit of a scatterbrain. I like it, though. It’s cute.”

My face is blushing scarlet right now. Jenny must take me for a right idiot. She sees this and giggles at me as she picks up her bags. I manage to laugh too, though I still feel a bit foolish.

“Well… looks like I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then,” Jenny says with a coy smile. “Bye, Frank.”

“Bye, Jenny,” I say, still feeling hot. I watch her walk across the hall to the door, looking over her shoulder at me. I smile and give her a small wave. She smiles back and looks back at the door, where she pushes it and leaves, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

I place my hand on my chest and _bang bang bang_ my heart beats. Even though I made a right idiot of myself, Jenny doesn’t seem to mind. She thinks that I’m a scatterbrain – and she finds it cute. Maybe she finds me cute as well. I sigh dreamily and leave the assembly hall, fantasying about me and Jenny down by the river.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

As I leave the hall, I see Aunt Hermione down the corridor. She sees me. I wave as I scurry over to her.

“Hey, Auntie,” I say, catching up to her.

“Where were you? I’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes!” she says.

“Sorry, I was in the assembly hall with Frank.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“You don’t have to worry. Frank and I were only talking.”

“Hm. So how did you find today?”

Apart from stopping a SKUL agent from stealing all the riches in London? It was dandy. “Good. It was good.”

“And I see you’ve already met some interesting people.”

“If you mean Frank, then he and I are friends.”

“Well, as long as you two are friends and nothing else.”

I roll my eyes and we make our way out of the school. As we head for the car, I can’t help but think about that brief semi-romantic moment that Frank and I had when we were holding hands. His hands were soft and warm, like him. But as much as I want to continue to hold hands with Frank, I can’t get together with him. It’s hard enough that I have to balance work life with my crime-fighting life, but there’s no way I can fit a love life in there, too. Though I have to admit, Frank does look adorable when he blushes. I giggle to myself as I enter the car and put on my seatbelt.

“What are you laughing about?” Aunt Hermione asks me as she enters the car and puts on her seatbelt.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say. “It was one of those random laughs when you remember something.”

Aunt Hermione shrugs it off and starts the car. As she pulls out of the school and drives us home, I look out of the window and continue to think about how cute Frank looks when he blushes.


	6. In the Doggy House

**(Jenny's POV)**

It's been six weeks since I joined St Hope's, working part-time as a teacher. I've gotten to know my way around the school as well as calling everybody in Year Ten by their real names. Though, Scoop insists that I continue to call him by his nickname. I've also become real good friends with Frank. I enjoy hanging out with him. I sometimes even help him out with his work and sometimes lunch with him, where we talk about anything and everything, make each other laugh and enjoy the company of one another. It's probably our way of us having a good time. But now, the whole school thinks that Frank and I are dating. We're not. Don't get me wrong, I like Frank. I liked him since day one, but I can't get together with him. Ever since I became the masked crime-fighter that is the Cat four years ago, dating has been off the table. And besides, even if I wasn't the Cat, I'm pretty sure Aunt Hermione is doing everything in her power to stop me and Frank from getting together. If she was head teacher of St Hope's, she would fire Frank right there and then.

Speaking of St Hope's, I really should be paying attention to the film I put on for the class to watch. It's Baz Luhrmann's _Romeo + Juliet_. The class is studying Shakespeare's tragic play this year. But since I can't be arsed to listen to the dullness that is the random voice of a pupil reading out loud to the book, I decided that it'll be better (and much quicker) to watch the film instead. And as it's a double English lesson, it'll be easier to watch the film in one go.

As I watch the final scene where Juliet, played by Claire Danes, shoots herself in the head, a police sergeant with three policemen burst through the door.

"Hey! What the hell? What's going on here?!" I ask, looking pissed.

"Sorry for the intrusion, miss, but we've come for Timothy Hinklebottom, Homer Apathy and John James McIntyre," says the sergeant.

"Why? What did they do?"

"Vandalism," the sergeant tells me. "Last night at the HSBC bank in Shepherd's Bush Green."

"No way, man!" says Scoop. "We didn't vandalise no bank!"

"We have CCTV footage of you and your friends completely trashing the bank," the sergeant tells Scoop. "Officers."

The three policemen march up to Scoop and his friends, Homie and JJ, bringing them to their feet and cuffing them.

"No fucking way!" I exclaim, standing up.

"Er, what's going on here?"

I turn to the door. It was Aunt Hermione with Mr. Flatley.

"Aunt H, Mr. F, the police are arresting Scoop, Homie and JJ!" I tell them.

"Timothy Hinklebottom, Homer Apathy and John James McIntyre, I'm arresting you for vandalism of a public building. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence," says the sergeant. "Take 'em away."

The three policemen take Scoop, Homie and JJ out of the classroom, with Aunt Hermione, Mr. Flatley, me and the whole class following behind. Aunt Hermione and Mr. Flatley try to persuade the police that they are making a terrible mistake, but the police are having none of it.

As the police bring the boys out of the school and to their police cars by the gates, I step in front of the gate, blocking their path. "You can't do this! Scoop, Homie and JJ are good kids! They'll never do something like this!"

"Miss, if you don't move out of the way, I will have to arrest you," says the sergeant.

"Jen, please… let the police do their jobs," says Aunt Hermione, taking hold of my arm.

"But…" Aunt Hermione pulls me out the sergeant's way and he and the policemen take Scoop, Homie and JJ to their police cars, then they drive away.

I pull away from Aunt Hermione. "Why did you do that?! Scoop, Homie and JJ are innocent!"

Before Aunt Hermione could say anything, I shake my head at her and run out of the gates. She calls after me but I'm not listening. I run up the road to Royal Crescent Park. I take out my phone and call Zeke.

"Zeke, I need your help!" I exclaim. "Three of my pupils have been arrested…"

"I know, Jen. I saw it on CCTV," says Zeke. "And they're not the only ones."

"What do you mean?"

"School kids across London have been arrested for turning every HSBC in the city upside down. I'm sending you CCTV footage of one of the banks being trashed to your communicator."

I open my wristwatch communicator and CCTV footage of a HSBC bank appears on the screen. The place was getting a licking by kids between the ages of twelve to sixteen. They were smashing the windows of the bank and throwing eggs at the cashier windows, writing graffiti on the posters and walls, tearing up the leaflets and knocking down the chairs and tables and flinging toilet paper all over the room.

"Oh, my God," I say.

"The same has happened to all the other HSBC banks," says Zeke. "Hmm. I'm looking at the footage from all the banks and it seems that they were all trashed at exactly the same time – ten past eleven."

"Zeke, did all these banks being trashed have a kid wearing headphones?" I ask.

There's a tiny pause. "Yes. Yes, they are. You don't think…?"

"Someone is hypnotising these kids into ripping apart HSBC banks across the city. I need to see Scoop and the others to find out who they were listening to before and during the attacks."

"Are you crazy?! Those kids are being held in a _police_ station. Or have you forgotten who you have been pissing off for four years?"

"Oh, ye of little faith, Ezekiel." I press the blue button on my communicator and I change into a black suit with a crisp, white shirt. My hair was slick back into a ponytail and I had on black sunglasses. I looked like Will Smith in Men in Black, except I had boobs. "Agent Brown – MI9."

"Nice," says Zeke.

"Right, I'm gonna head over to the police station and interview Scoop."

"Two things, Jen. One, be careful and two… never, _ever_ call me by my full name."

"Whatever. Laters." I hang up and leave the park. I hail a taxi and tell the driver to take me to Shepherd's Bush Police Station.

**(Frank's POV)**

I see the CCTV footage of Scoop and his friend being taken away by the police from HQ. I turn off the middle computer screen and stand up, wondering who could try and set up Scoop, his friends and the other kids across the city.

_SWOOSH!_

The elevator doors open and Rose, Carrie and Oscar enter HQ, and they are not looking pleased.

"Frank, what's going on here?" Carrie asks. "Scoop, Homie and JJ have being arrested for vandalism."

"As dumb as Scoop and his friends are, they're not that stupid in pulling a stunt like this," says Oscar.

"Scoop and his friends weren't the only ones arrested for vandalism," I say.

"What do you mean, Frank?" Rose asks.

"Kids all over London have been arrested for vandalism of HSBC." I turn all three computer screens. "These are CCTV footage of three different HSBC banks over London being vandalised."

"But why are they only attacking HSBC?" Oscar asks.

"And why are they all wearing headphones?" Carrie asks.

"They look like they're being hypnotised," says Rose. "Question is who is hypnotising Scoop and the others and why does this want to destroy HSBC?"

"That's what you need to find out," I say. "MI9 has brought in one of the kids involved in the riot to St Hope's. Your job is to interview him about what he was doing before the riot. You'll be interviewing him in the school's assembly hall."

"And what will you be doing, Frank?" Carrie asks.

My mobile rings. I pull out my phone and see Mrs King's name flash on the screen. "I will be answering Mrs King's beck and call. You three go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Oscar, Rose and Carrie leave HQ. Sighing in exasperation, I answer my phone.

"Mrs K, what can I do for you?" I ask in my cheeriest of tones.

"Hi, Frank…" she says. "I was wondering if you could… give Jenny a call."

"Jenny?!" My heart skips a beat. "W-why?"

"Let's just say that I'm not her favourite person to talk to at the moment. She's mad at me for pulling her away as she was blocking the policemen's path and for letting them take Timothy, Homer and John James away. I've tried calling her but it keeps going to voicemail and I was thinking that since she likes… spending time with you, she might answer your call."

"Right. Well… I'll get on it right away, Mrs K."

"Thank you."

Hanging up, I call Jenny's number. After a few rings, it went straight to voicemail.

' _Hi, there! This is the J-E-double N-Y Brownstone saying I can't answer your call right now. But fret not, friend/family member, just leave your message after the beep and I'll get back to you ASAP. Kiss kiss.'_

_BEEP!_

"Oh, hi, Jenny. It's Frank," I say. "Listen, er, your Aunt Hermione… Mrs King, has just, er, called me to call you to see, or hear that you're OK. She said that you had a right pop at her when she pulled you away as you were blocking the policemen's path and for letting them take Scoop, Homie and JJ away. She's a bit worried about you so, er, just call her… or me. You can call me back just to say that you're OK. OK? Bye."

I hang up and lightly bang my phone against my forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sound like an idiot, why don't you?"

Sighing in annoyance, I leave HQ, but hoping that Jenny is OK.


	7. The Knight in Shining Leather

**(Jenny's POV)**

Getting out of the taxi, I pay the driver and, straightening my black blazer, I head into the police station. I walk up to the front desk, where there was a young dark-skinned woman with long, plaited black hair and big brown eyes who was working on the computer. I clear my throat to get her attention.

"Can I help you?" she asks, looking up from the computer.

"Yes. I was wondering if I can speak to whoever is in charge with the HSBC vandalism case," I say.

"And who might you be?"

I whip out my (fake) ID badge. "Agent Penny Brown of MI9."

I wait with bated breath as the woman checks out the badge. Nodding her head in affirmation, she picks up the phone to call her supervisor.

"Sergeant Bailey? Constable Allard here," she says. "I've got an Agent Penny Brown who works for MI9 wanting to speak to you about the HSBC vandalism case… OK." She hangs up. "Sergeant Bailey is on his way."

"Thank you," I say.

I sit on the bench by a door that leads down a corridor to the cells that Scoop, Homie and JJ are probably in. I look at the various flyers and leaflets that they had opposite from where I was sitting: murder cases from a year or so ago, missing person flyers, volunteer leaflets and advice leaflets about various crimes and victim support.

"Agent Brown?" I stand up and see Sergeant Bailey standing by the doorway. The same Sergeant Bailey who had Scoop, Homie and JJ arrested. He holds out his hand. "Sergeant Elliot Bailey. A pleasure."

I take his hand and shake it, giving his hand a little squeeze. "Likewise."

"I take it you and your people are looking into this vandalism case?"

"Precisely. There are MI9 agents across the city interviewing the people who were involved in the attacks. I'm here to interview Timothy Hinklebottom, Homer Apathy and John James McIntyre about their involvement."

"And what makes you think that they will tell you anything, Agent Brown?"

"Oh, they'll be telling me something, Sergeant Bailey." I lay my briefcase on the bench and open it. I pull out a syringe. "This is Truth Serum 2X4B-523P. I inject them with this and the truth will be spewing out of their mouths like Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist. Albeit, I will only use this if they get fresh with me. So… what do you say?"

Bailey looks at the syringe than at me. Sighing, he motions me to follow him. I place the syringe back into the briefcase and close it and I follow Bailey. He leads me to one of the cells at the end of a long corridor.

Opening the peephole of the cell door, he looks inside. "Mr Hinklebottom, you have a visitor." He closes the peephole door and turns to me. "You have five minutes."

I nod my head as he unlocks the door and opens it. I enter into the cell and the door shuts behind me. I look at the cell. It's small, grey and depressing. There's a small square window opposite the door I'm standing at with black rough bars. I look to the right side of the cell and see a stainless steel toilet in the corner by the window with its matching stainless steel basin in the corner by the door. I look to the left side of the cell and there's a white table top anchored in the wall with a plastic grey chair sitting in the corner and in the corner opposite the anchored table top was Scoop. He's sitting cross-legged on a black stainless steel bed that had an unseeingly lumpy grey mattress with a grey woolly blanket and a single white pillow. Despite Scoop being in this cell for about an hour, he looks rough and possibly a bit scared.

"Hello, Mr. Hinklebottom," I say, walking up to him.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"A friend." I take the chair from the corner and I sit opposite of Scoop.

"Look, I've already told the police and now I is gonna tell you: I didn't vandalise nothing!"

"Then at least tell me what you and your friends were up to last night before this vandalism came to life."

Scoop crosses his arms and looks away.

"Timothy… you and your friends are looking at a hefty fine and an ASBO for a crime you're telling me that you didn't do, despite the fact that there are CCTV footage of you three doing so. So unless you tell me what happened last night, I'm gonna walk straight out of this cell and have Sergeant Bailey write up the ASBO. So… what's it to be?"

After about ten seconds, Scoop gives in with a sigh. He uncrosses his arms and turns his head to me.

"Fine, I'll tell you," he says. "Me, Homie and JJ were at my house last night… doing homework, yeah?"

I nod my head. "OK. Is that all you were doing?"

"Yeah. That and listening to music."

"Music?"

"Yeah. We all had our headphones on as we did our homework."

I remember in the CCTV footage of Scoop and the others having headphones on as they attacked the bank. "Who or what were you listening to?"

"We was all listening to a radio station called Swaggerbeatz FM," Scoop answers.

"I've never heard of that station."

"It's a pirate radio station. It's hosted by DJ Mega J."

"And that's what all you three of you were doing?"

"Yeah, until quarter to eleven. I must have blacked out of somethink coz when I woke up this morning, it was half eight."

"Timothy…" I say, standing up. "You've just saved you and your friends from getting an ASBO and a very pricey fine."

I go to the door and bang on it to let Bailey know I was finished. "By the way, Timothy, even though you're innocent, I hope that this is an eye-opener on the path you're gonna choose."

"It certainly has," says Scoop.

The door opens and waving at Scoop, I leave the cell. Scoop stands up from the bed and heads for the door, but Bailey slams the door shut, locking it.

Clearing my throat, I walk down the corridor. "Well, Sergeant Bailey, it seems that Mr. Hinklebottom didn't tell me much about last night and the truth serum didn't help either. Apparently, the boys down at the MI9 lab thought it would be funny to put water in the syringe rather than the serum. But don't you worry, sergeant, when I get back to MI9, those dummy scientists will get what's coming to them."

I push open the double doors that lead to the front desk and entrance. I walk into the reception area and I head for the exit, only to see two of the burliest-looking policemen blocking the exit, their arms crossed and their faces red.

"What the hell?" I say to myself. I turn around and see four policemen including the woman in the front desk blocking the other doors. Bailey makes his way to the front. "What is the meaning of this, Sergeant Bailey?"

"While you were having a talk with Mr. Hinklebottom, I look the liberty in calling MI9 to see if there was an Agent Penny Brown working for them," he says. "Turns out that there is a Penny Brown – but she's forty-five years old!"

Whoops!

"So, while we're waiting for an MI9 car to come and take you away "Agent Brown", you're gonna tell me exactly who you are and why you want to know about the HSBC vandalism case," Bailey tells me. "Unless you are who I think you are…"

A loud roar on the street drowned out Bailey's words. It's not a pneumatic drill because I didn't see or hear any road works on my way to the station or when I went in. What is that deafening roar?

"Can you hear me?!" Bailey yells over the roar.

There was a vibration in my chest. It was my phone. I pull it out of my inside blazer pocket and ignoring the missed calls and voicemail messages I read the text.

_Cover your ears and run for cover!_

Placing the phone back into my pocket, I head for the side of the vending machine by the door and cover my ears. There's an earth-shattering roar. A roar so powerful it shatters the glass of the front desk and the windows of the station, knocking out the burly policemen, Bailey and the others.

"What the hell just happened?" I ask, suddenly confused. I uncover my ears and peek my head out from the vending machine and there's a biker. He's astride a large motorcycle, leaning over the handlebars, grinning at me with such adorable dimples from under his red-and-black helmet, gunning the engine with his black-gloved hands.

"Jump on," he yells, slapping the space on the leather seat behind him.

I look at the unconscious police officers, then at the biker.

"Jump on!" the biker repeats.

I leave my hiding place of the vending machine and head out of the police station, jumping over the knocked out policemen and pull myself up onto the back of the big, black-and-chrome motorcycle, and grab the biker's leather-jacketed shoulders as he pulls away with an explosion and a powerful jolt.

The biker roars through a red traffic light, nearly colliding two middle-aged women on bikes. The streets whirred by in a blur of parked cars and shops.

Where is he taking me? What am I doing here? I don't know him. I don't know anyone like him.

The big motorcycle seemed to explode again and with a burst of speed, the biker roars on, heading north towards Acton.

"Hey – stop! Stop!" I cry, suddenly regretting my impulsive decision.

But he couldn't – or wouldn't – hear me.

I grip his shoulders, leaning against his jacket to my face out of the onrushing wind. I've made a mistake. I've made a terrible mistake.

xxoOoxx

A short while later, the biker skids to a stop at the entrance of Acton Park near Acton Central Overground Train Station, nearly ploughing into the back of a Volvo Land Cruiser. A woman dressed in a grey suit, walking a gigantic Rottweiler, sneers at the biker and gives him a dirty look. The big, sad-faced dog sniffs at the motorcycle. The woman tugs its leash and pulls it away.

Laughing, the biker slides off the seat and, pulling off his helmet, turns to me. He's tall and powerfully built with straight, dark hair and light eyes, and a perfect, straight nose. "Ugly dog, huh?"

I struggle to arrange my windblown hair, but it's impossible. "You nearly ran it over."

The biker shrugs his shoulders.

"Listen, it was really nice of you to rescue me," I say, then demanded while pulling at my hair, "but who the hell are you?"

"I'm a friend of Zeke Williams," he replies. "Kenzie Simms."

"Of course." I slide forward on the seat so I could grip the handlebars. "He knew what I was doing was suicide, so he calls for back-up."

"Just call me your knight in shining leather." Kenzie grins. He runs a hand back through his short, straight hair.

"Right… well, I better call Zeke then, to thank him." I climb off the seat and pull out my phone from my blazer pocket and call Zeke.

"Jenny!" Zeke hails. "So nice to hear from you. Are you calling me from your own phone or from the police station's?"

"Ha, ha, very funny, Zeke," I say. "Still, thanks for sending in reinforcements."

"I had a feeling that the ol' boys in blue will catch you out, so I called Kenzie. What do you think of him?"

I turn to look at Kenzie. He smiles at me, revealing the deep dimples in his cheeks. Smiling back, I turn away from him. "Good-looking as he is, I would still prefer Frank to Kenzie."

"Hm. Anyway, how did you get on at the station?"

"Turns out that Scoop, Homie and JJ were listening to music while they while doing their homework last night."

"Is that all?"

"Uh-uh. Scoop then tells me that he blacked out from quarter to eleven last night till half eight this morning."

"All three blacked out while they listened to music?"

"Yeah. On their headphones."

"Who were they listening to?"

"A DJ called DJ Mega J. He hosts a pirate radio station called Swaggerbeatz FM."

There's tapping in the background. He's typing like quicksilver.

"I've hacked into Mega J's email account. His real name is Jerome Harris," Zeke tells me. "And he and his radio station are at 24 Swete Street, Plaistow."

"Plaistow?! That's the other side of London!" I exclaim.

"I'm sure Kenzie will take you there. That's if you ask nicely."

I laugh sarcastically and hang up. I turn back to Kenzie. "Hey, Kenzie? Got enough petrol in your motorcycle for a trip to the other side of London?"

"Just filled my tank up this morning. Hop on." He jumps onto the seat. "Where do you wanna go?"

I slide onto the back seat. "Swete Street, Plaistow."

"Alrighty, then! East London, here we come!" Kenzie starts the motorcycle with a roar and bursts away from the kerb, spins around and heads for Plaistow, while I hold onto the shoulders of his leather jacket for dear life.


	8. You Got Me MC Hypnotized

**(Frank's POV)**

I look at my phone for the umpteenth time and no reply. It's been nearly two hours since I left that message on Jenny's phone and she still hasn't replied back. I'm starting to get a bit worried now. What if something has happened to her? I shake my head dismissively. Of course nothing bad has happened. I'm just being stupid. Jenny can take care of herself. I need to distract myself. I'll go and see how Oscar, Rose and Carrie are doing. Putting the mop in the bucket, I wheel the mopping cart to the assembly hall.

Upon arriving by the door of the assembly hall, Oscar and Carrie come out.

"How are you guys getting on?" I ask them.

"Apparently, our suspect says that he doesn't remember vandalising the HSBC bank last night," says Oscar. "He says that he was at home playing on his PSP while listening to music on his headphones."

"He says that he must have blacked out because the last thing he remembered was looking at the clock by his bed which read eleven o'clock and he says that he didn't wake up until half past eight this morning," says Carrie.

"He blacked out…?"

"While he was listening to music. Remember, Frank, everyone in that CCTV footage were wearing headphones."

"So who was he listening to?" I ask.

"Some DJ called DJ Mega J," says Carrie. "He hosts this pirate radio station called Swaggerbeatz FM."

"Rose went to HQ to check out the Swaggerbeatz website," says Oscar.

There was a buzzing sound. Carrie pulls out her pencil communicator and answers it. "Hey, Rose. OK. OK then." She hangs up. "Rose has hacked into Mega J's email account. His real name is Jerome Harris, nineteen years old and his address is 24 Swete Street, Plaistow."

"I say we should go and pay Mr. Harris a visit," Oscar suggests.

"Be careful, agents," I say cautiously.

Nodding their heads, Oscar and Carrie walk off.

I was about to wheel the mopping cart to the storage cupboard when I hear Mrs King call my name, "Frank!"

"Mrs King!" I say, quickly turning around.

"Have you heard back from Jenny yet?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, Mrs King."

Mrs King crosses her arms over her chest. "Ohhh. I'm really worried about her. What if something has happened to her? I'll never forgive myself."

"Mrs K, this is Jenny we're talking about. I'm sure that whoever goes up against Jen will be eaten for breakfast. That person will have to think twice before they challenge Jen," I tell Mrs King assuredly.

"Hmm. I hope you're right, Frank."

Mrs King walks off, still feeling unsure about what I said. _I_ was feeling unsure about what I said. I pull out my phone again to see if Jenny has replied. Nothing. Sighing, I wheel the mopping cart off to the storage cupboard. Oh, Jen, I hope that you're OK.

**(Jenny's POV)**

After nearly an hour and a half of clinging onto Kenzie's leather jacket for dear life, we've finally reached our destination.

"We're here," says Kenzie.

I climb off the seat of his motorcycle and look at the building. It was a three-storey 1970s terrace house. I turn my attention back to Kenzie.

"Thanks for the lift, Kenzie," I say.

"No problem," he says. "By the way, Zeke wanted me to give these to you."

Kenzie reaches in the pockets of his jacket and pulls out a gold lipstick tube and a rectangular black box.

First, he holds up the lipstick tube. "This is the Lipstick Stun Gun. A concealable weapon shaped and sized like a lipstick tube." He gives the lipstick tube to me and opens the black box. It was a black velvet choker necklace with a silver cat head-shaped centrepiece. "Next, we have the Voice Alterer. This gadget allows you to change your voice. Push together the cat ears of the centrepiece and it'll activate the speaker and microphone."

"Wow!" I say as he hands me the choker.

"Oh, and I have one final gift to give you."

He goes into his pocket again and takes out a piece of paper, handing it to me. I look at the card. It has his name and his… phone number. I look at Kenzie, feeling hot and red as he uses his hand to do an impression of a phone.

"Call me," he mouths.

With a wink, he takes off. I stand on the pavement and watch him roar around the corner. My heart feels almost sick witch excitement, and my insides are still shaking. He fancies me. I mean he _really_ fancies me. I sigh and shake my head as I put the paper and the Lipstick Stun Gun in my pocket. After placing the Voice Alterer choker around my neck, I head into the council flat.

After reaching stairhead of the third floor, I decided that I needed a change in outfit. I look around to see if anyone was around. Knowing that the coast is clear, I open my wristwatch communicator and press the blue button above the keypads and change into my catsuit.

Coming out of the stairwell, I make my way to the end of the building, reaching a red door that was slightly open with a gold plated '24' on the door. I gently push the door open and quietly enter the flat.

Closing the door behind me with ease, I walk down the short, small corridor as there was no one in the kitchen and the living room was empty. I look up the staircase by the living room door. It seems that Harris was hiding upstairs. I start to creep slowly up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Reaching the landing, I see that the bedroom door by the staircase was the only one is open. I cautiously enter the room. The room is medium-sized, with white wallpaper and a dark blue carpet and various posters of rap stars plastered on the wall. There's a large tan-coloured wardrobe opposite the door and a single black-framed bed with a navy blue duvet in the corner of the room by the window with a tan-coloured bedside drawer that has a black alarm clock. And opposite the bed are the audio sources, the mixing and transmission equipment and filters used to make Jerome's pirate radio station, Swaggerbeatz FM. And speaking of Jerome, I spot him sitting on his black swivel chair, facing the window.

"All right, Harris. How's about you turn that cornrow head of yours and face me so I can see what your face would look like when I cuff you?" I say to Jerome. He does nothing. He says nothing. He's still sitting on his chair, with his back to me. Sighing deeply, I walk over to Jerome. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear, Harris. I said tu-"

I stop mid-sentence when I spin his chair around. His wrists are tied up with a piece of white cloth and his mouth is gagged with a tennis ball.

"What the…?" I ask, removing the tennis ball from Jerome's mouth.

"Behind you!" he says.

I quickly turn around but it's too late. The figure behind me smashes a plate over my head, knocking me out.

Ouch…

xxoOoxx

I wake up with a groan. The side of my head is pounding and I feel really dizzy. I try to massage my temples but I can't move my hands. They're tied behind my back. I can't move my legs either. My ankles are tied up as well.

"Uhhh… son of a _bitch!_ " I groan.

"Ah, good. You're awake," says a voice.

I lift my head and see a slender twentysomething black guy with a diamond earstud in a tight white T-shirt to show off his toned body sitting by the radio equipment opposite the bed I'm sitting on.

"I take it you're not Jerome Harris," I say.

"Nah…" he says. "I'm his cousin, Jamal Frazier."

"Cousin?"

"My mum is the sister of Jerome's dad."

"I see… Uh, listen, Jamal. How's about explaining to me why you used your cousin's equipment to hypnotize the teens and young adults of London into attacking the HSBC banks. And maybe at the same time, you could untie me while you're telling me the story."

"I'm _not_ gonna untie you. But I will tell you why I'm doing this." Jamal turns to the window. "My sister, Imani, used to work at the HSBC Tower in Canary Wharf. Five years she worked there. She was hard-working, organised and she loved to learn and develop her skills. Then… the recession comes in and her and 4, 000 other people are made redundant. Losing her job meant that she couldn't afford to live in her luxury flat in Cabot Square that was near her workplace, so she gave it up. She moved back to me and mum's place where she does nothing but drinks and smoke dope all day and all night. And because of that, her and mum argue. I mean _really_ argue. Mega throw-glass-at-the-wall-and-have-a-neighbour-call-the-police arguments."

"Well, that explains why all the HSBC banks across the city got trashed," I say. "But how did you hypnotize the people into doing it?"

"Covet hypnosis. I can hypnotize others without them knowing."

"That explains the blackouts. You used Jerome's radio equipment into hypnotizing everyone without them knowing they were being hypnotized."

"Exactly. That is until Jerome had to butt in and disrupt my broadcast. So I had him tied and gagged. He's being like that since last night." I turn to Jerome. The tennis ball is back in his mouth and now he's blindfolded with an eye mask. I turn back to Jamal. "Now, I've finished my transmission. While you were unconscious, I hypnotized anybody who listens to Swaggerbeatz FM into attacking the HSBC Tower."

"What?!" I say.

Jamal looks at the alarm clock on the bedside drawer. "Yeah. Right now, anyone who listened to my transmission will be making their way to Canary Wharf to tear down the place where my sister worked her arse off for five years. Now that's one problem done..." He then turns to me and smiles evilly. "Another one to go…"

Jamal stands up and walks over to me, but I stop him in his tracks.

"Wait!" I say.

"What?" he says, now slightly annoyed.

"Remember that scene in the A-Team movie where Brock Pike was in that car with Agent Lynch and his men, and Pike told Lynch to have his hands tied to the front and not the back because Pike had his hands tied to his back and he uncuffed them and attacked Lynch's men?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

I show Jamal my hands – untied. While he was talking about his sister, I managed to successfully free my hands. If only the idiot had handcuffs instead of cloth.

"This is what happens when you monologue, Jamal," I say, with an impish grin on my face.

"You fucking bitch!" he says, making a grab at me.

My hand flies out, hitting his face. He screams and staggers, clutching his head. I untie my ankles and reach for the Lipstick Stun Gun in the canister of the utility belt. Jamal steadies himself and turns to me looking P-I-S-S-E-D. The left side of his face red with anger as well as blood.

"Wh-why you–!" Jamal takes a swing at me, but I dodge it. I remove the lid of the lipstick tube and as Jamal takes another swing at me, I jab the stun gun below his ribcage.

"GAAAHHH–!" Jamal screams, as the volts charge through his body.

After five seconds, I pull the Lipstick Stun Gun from his ribcage. With a dazed look on his face, Jamal drops to the floor, his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

"Never come between a girl and her lipstick." I blow the smoke from the electrodes of the stun gun and cover it up with the lid. I turn my attention to Jerome who was still tied up. I go over to him and remove the eye mask from his face and the tennis ball from his mouth, and I untie his hands.

"You OK?" I ask Jerome.

He nods. He looks at Jamal's twitching body. "What about him?"

"Oh, he'll be right as rain in a few hours. Right now I need your help in operating the equipment. I'm gonna reverse the hypnosis that Jamal put on the people who listen to this station."

"How? Everyone heard Jamal's voice, they won't listen to you."

"You're gonna have to trust me, Jerome."

Nodding his head, Jerome walks over to his makeshift radio station and hands me the microphone and the headphones. After flicking switches and pressing buttons, Jerome nods his head to me, signalling me to speak.

I push the cat ears on centrepiece of the choker and the speakers and microphone come on. "Hello, everyone. This is Jamal Frazier speaking. Listen to my voice; you are now under my control. You are to stop where are. Do not attack the HSBC Tower. I repeat, do _not_ attack the HSBC Tower. Return to whatever you were doing before I made the transmission. Oh, and to any young listeners, you are to stay in school and study hard. Say no to drugs and alcohol. And remember: safe sex is the best sex. Use a condom. Over and out."

Jerome stares at me astonishment as I remove the headphones.

"Bu – you're voice – how did you – what!?" he stammers.

"I know. That's one of the perks of being a crime-fighter: the awesome gadgets," I say. "Now, back to the chair. I have to tie you up."

"What? Why?"

"MI9 think that you're the mastermind behind all of this. However, if they see you bound and gagged, and see Shakin' Stevens on the floor here, you'll be home free. Even though MI9 will confiscate your radio stuff as pirate radioing is illegal."

"You have a point there. But what makes you think that Jamal will be here when MI9 arrive?"

I take out the Lipstick Stun Gun and remove the lid, jabbing it in Jamal's upper hip.

"Aieee!" he babbles.

Removing the stun gun from his hip, I watch Jamal drool on the carpet while his body continues to twitch.

"Happy?" I ask Jerome.

"Very." He walks to the swivel chair and sits on it. "Still, I can't help but feel sorry for him."

"Hm. Still, hypnotizing the city's kids into attacking the HSBC banks will not get his sister her job back," I say as I tie Jerome's ankles and wrists with the white cloth. "It's not too tight, is it?"

Jerome shakes his head.

"OK, good." I pick up the tennis ball. "Now before I pop this in your mouth, I want you to promise me that when this whole thing blows over, you'll get a decent education, a job and help out your family."

"Believe me, after see Jamal act the way he was acting, I promise to even go to church every Sunday."

There's banging outside. "Open the door! This is MI9!"

"Time for me to bust a move," I say, placing the tennis ball in Jerome's mouth. I make my way to the window and open it wide. Climbing out of the window, I turn to Jerome and give him a wave, and then I jump. As I fall mid-air, I open my wristwatch communicator and press the green button above the keypads, activating the Rocket Go-go Boots that were fitted on the toe and heel.

I quickly pull myself up in the air before I ended up like pancakes. While flying back to St Hope's, I open my communicator to check if I have any missed calls or messages.

"You have twenty miss calls and one voicemail," says the automated voice.

"Let me hear the voicemail," I say to the communicator.

There was a beep and the voicemail comes on.

"Oh, hi, Jenny. It's Frank. Listen, er, your Aunt Hermione… Mrs King, has just, er, called me to call you to see, or hear that you're OK. She said that you had a right pop at her when she pulled you away as you were blocking the policemen's path and for letting them take Scoop, Homie and JJ away. She's a bit worried about you so, er, just call her… or me. You can call me back just to say that you're OK. OK? Bye."

Shit! I completely forgot about Aunt Hermione. I feel so mean for yelling at her at lunchtime. I need to make it up to her. Better get myself down to Westfield.

**(Frank's POV)**

My phone rings. I quickly pull out my phone and see Oscar's name on the screen. Shoot, I thought it was Jenny.

"Oscar," I say, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Hi, Frank," he says. "Just wanted to let you know that we've caught the guy behind the hypnosis attacks. It wasn't Jerome Harris; it was his cousin Jamal Frazier."

"I see. Well, good work agents."

"Yeah, that's just it. It wasn't us who caught Jamal. It was the Cat."

"Of course. Right, well, bring Jamal in and I'll see you and Carrie tomorrow."

"OK. See you tomorrow, Frank."

I hang up and drag myself down the corridor. I look at my watch. It's just after quarter past five and she's not back. I've gone from worrying to panicking. Rose kept on telling that Jenny is fine and that I shouldn't worry or panic, but I can't help it. I care so much about Jenny that if anything has happened to her I'll…

I stop in my tracks as I turn a corner. I see Jenny slump against the wall outside the door of Mrs King and Mr. Flatley's office, with some shopping bags by her feet.

"Jenny?" I say.

She sees me and starts waving. I go up to her and pull her into a hug. The sweet smell made me suddenly clutch her tight.

"Hey, whoa! Easy, Frank!" she says.

I realise that I'm hugging her a little too tightly. I pull away, my face going bright red. "You're an idiot, you know that? Mrs King and I were worried sick. Where were you? Why didn't you call or text?"

"Sorry," she says quietly, looking very embarrassed. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to worry you or Aunt Hermione. After I ran out, I went to clear my head. I felt really guilty about what I did, so I went to Westfield to buy Aunt Hermione a present. Knowing that you were worried about me, Frank, I brought something for you, too. I hope you like it."

Jenny passes me a blue bag, which I take. I open the bag and pull out a fluffy grey medium-sized teddy bear. It had a blue nose and a matching blue ribbon around its neck.

"Do you like it?" Jenny says.

"I love it," I say, admiring the bear. I look at Jenny. "Well, I suppose I can't stay angry at you."

"Phew, thank God for that! Though, you do look cute when you're angry."

I can feel my face getting even redder. Jenny giggles and I couldn't help but give a little chuckle myself. I just couldn't help it. Every time I look at Jenny, she makes me smile. She's the best.

"Jenny?"

Jenny and I stop laughing. It was Mrs King. She didn't look her usual stern self. She looked composed, content and… glad. Glad that Jenny was back, safe and sound.

"Ah, hi, Aunt 'Mione," says Jenny, as she turns to face Mrs King.

"I'll, er, leave you two alone," I say, walking round the corner. I don't get too far from Jenny and Mrs King. I can vaguely hear them talking. Leaning against the wall, I look at the teddy bear that Jenny gave me and I sigh at it.

"Oh, just ask her out already!"

I jump and turn to see Rose standing there, her backpack over one shoulder with her hand holding the strap while her other hand was placed on her hip.

"Rose! You startled me!" I say, clutching my chest with my free hand. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough," Rose replies. "So… are you gonna ask her out?"

I hesitant. "I-I don't know, Rose. I'm scared that she might say no."

" _Frank!_ Are you being deliberately irritating? She obviously likes you."

"Do you really think so?" I hiss, delighted.

Rose sighs. "Honestly, Frank, you are such a goofball. Ever since Jenny came to this school, you've being acting like a lovesick puppy."

"I haven't!"

"Of course you haven't. Oh, hi, Jenny."

"Nice try, Rose. As if I'm gonna fall for that one."

"Hi, Frank!" I hear Jenny say.

I push off from the wall. "Jenny, hi! Hi!" I say, sounding like a complete idiot. I feel my face going red… again.

"I just wanted to say that Aunt Hermione as forgiven me after I showed her the present I brought for her. It's a beautiful silver pearl and crystal spiral flower brooch. Anyway, her and I are gonna be pushing off now. So I'll see you tomorrow, Frank." She nods at Rose. "Bye Rose."

"Bye, Jenny," says Rose.

"Bye, Jenny," I say, giving her a little wave.

Waving back, Jenny walks off, clonking a little in her shoes down the corridor. I can still smell her sweet perfume. It's heaven. I turn to Rose, who's slowly shaking her head.

"Really, Frank. You are such a schoolboy," she says. "I mean, you do like her, right?"

"I don't think I like her, Rose." I look at the teddy bear once again. "I think… I think I'm falling in love with her."

I am. I am. I am.


	9. Twas the Kidnap Before Christmas

**(Jenny's POV)**

I just love Christmas! That time of the year where I shop for presents, spend time with my family and… to take time off as the Cat. Zeke and his parents have gone off on their annual Christmas vacation to Jamaica and they won't be back until after the first week of January. So, for the next three weeks, I'm just plain ol' Jenny Brownstone.

Its St Hope's last day of school before we break up for the holidays and I'm standing by the school gates, freezing my butt off because I'm waiting for Livi.

Livi is my little sister. I say little, she's five years younger than me, but she's taller than me. She's five-foot-seven and I'm five-foot-five. Like me, Livi is beautiful, popular and confident. But we're both different people: I'm a tomboy and geek rolled into one, while Livi is a girly girl who can attract male attention from a three mile radius. But we share everything. Clothes. Make-up. Secrets. (I haven't told her that I'm the Cat.) We practically do everything together. We watch films. (Though I like action and adventure films, but she likes rom-coms and chick-flicks.) We argue but then we make up. We like to bake treats such as cookies and what have you. We go out, either to shop, go to the cinema or go clubbing and we muck about. But now that she's in her first year of university and I'm either teaching or saving Britain, we don't see each other like we use to, unless we Skype. Which we've been doing every week for the last three months.

"Coo-ee!"

I turn and see Livi going tock-tock-tock in her black platform shoe boots, waving at me. As ever, she looks stunning. She's wearing a leopard print furry jacket, with a burgundy knitted jumper underneath. She had on a short, black figure-fit skirt and black opaque tights that covered her long legs. Along with her black leather shoulder bag, she's carrying various bags of what could only be shopping. Figures why she's late.

"Livi!" I say, my arms stretching out.

"Hi, Jen," she says, as she lunges forward, putting her arms around me. She lightly touches my cheek with hers and then repeats the gesture with my other cheek. "Sorry I'm late. I got… distracted."

"So I gathered."

She's looks at the building. "So… this is St Hope's. Finally, I get to see the place in where you work."

"Hmm. Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

"But don't you have classes to teach?"

"It's the last day, so classes are cancelled. Everybody is pretty much doing their own thing. Now let's go. I've been waiting outside for you for twenty minutes and there's a possibility that I'll get a cold."

Livi links her arm in mine and we walk towards the school. As we walk across the playground, I look over my shoulder. I can't help the feeling that someone is watching us.

"You OK, sis?" Livi asks.

I turn to her and smile. "Just dandy. Let's go."

xxoOoxx

"So what's it like teaching. Do the pupils here give you grief?" Livi asks, as we walk down the corridor.

"Teaching is a doddle. And the kids here don't give me grief. We get on like a house on fire," I say, walking past Scoop and his friends, giving Scoop a fist bump.

"Safe, Miss B!" says Scoop.

"Wow, I'll say," says Livi, looking over her shoulder at Scoop and the others. "Hey, I've just realised something." She turns to me. "Isn't this the place where your boyfriend works?"

I sigh out of my nose. "How many times do I have to tell you this? Frank is not my _boy_ friend."

"Well, what is he then?" says Livi.

Just as I was about to say "He's just a friend", I see Frank walking towards us, getting nearer. He hasn't seen me yet. Oh no. He has. Oh, what shall I do? I look away. Oh, please don't let me blush. I'm getting hot; he's getting nearer still–

"Jen? Jenny, what's up?" says Livi. She looks at who I was staring at. "Oh, my God. Is he Frank?"

I swallow and nod my head.

He's right in front of me. I look up and he's smiling. "Hi, Jenny," he says.

"Hi, Frank," I say, smiling wistfully.

There is a little silence. I tuck my hair behind my ear, racking my brains for something, _anything_ , to say… but Livi nudges me.

"Jenny, aren't you gonna introduce me to your _friend_?" she asks, jerking her head towards Frank.

"Right! Right, sorry," I say. "Er, Frank, this is my sister, Livi. Livi, this is Frank London."

Livi holds out her hand. "Jen has told me so much about you, Frank."

"Likewise, Livi," says Frank, taking her hand and shaking it. "Anyway, I better get back to work. See you later, Livi. Jenny."

"See you," Livi and I say in unison.

Frank walks past us while I dither, still in a daze.

"So…" says Livi, staring after him, "that's Frank London."

"Yeah," I mutter, looking back over my shoulder. He looks back at me but I turn away, my cheeks feeling pink.

"Mm-mm-mmm. I wouldn't mind having him sweeping me off my feet."

I glare at Livi.

"What?" she says, raising her palms as she shrugs her shoulders. "Besides, I thought Frank is not your boyfriend."

"Whatever," I say. "Let's go see Aunt 'Mione."

We reach Aunt Hermione and Mr. Flatley's office where they both come out. As Mr. Flatley locks the door, Livi bounces to Aunt Hermione, throwing her arms around Aunt Hermione's neck and giving her a hug.

"Hi, Aunt 'Mione!" says Livi, letting go.

"Hello, Livi!" says Aunt Hermione, laughing. "How have you been? How's university?"

"I'm great and university is fantastic. The amount of lush-looking lads on my course is just… heaven."

Aunt Hermione smiles. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Flatley. Mr. Flatley, this is my other niece that I've been telling you about. Livi, this is Mr. Flatley."

"Hello," says Livi, holding out her hand.

"Hello, Livi," says Mr. Flatley, taking her hand and shaking it. "Mrs King and Miss Brownstone have told me all about you."

"Likewise," says Livi.

"Anyway, I hope you'll be staying with us for the party."

"Party?"

"Yes. Every year at Christmas, before we break up for the holidays, we end the term with a Christmas party. So will you be staying?"

"Of course! And I've got the perfect dress for this. D'you mind if I use your office to get changed?"

"By all means," says Mr. Flatley, walking off. "See you in the assembly hall!"

"I suppose I'll have to stay with you, right?" I ask Livi.

"How else am I supposed to find the assembly hall?" she says.

"Here are the keys to the office," says Aunt Hermione, handing me the keys. " _Don't_ lose them. I'll see you two in the assembly hall."

Aunt Hermione walks off down the corridor as I unlock the office door. Livi enters with me following behind, closing the door. Livi sets down her shopping bags and furry jacket on Aunt Hermione's desk and lowers the blinds of the window, while I turn my back to her as she starts to undress.

"So… that Mr. Flatley guy seems nice," says Livi, rummaging through the bags. "Ah! Here we go!"

"Yeah, Mr. F is OK," I say. "I mean he can be quite weedy, pathetic and a bit cowardly, but he manages to get on with the pupils in a light-hearted way."

"Uh-huh."

There's a long pause.

"So what's going on between you and Frank?" Livi bursts out.

Even though my back is turned, I blush a little. "N-nothing is going on between me and Frank."

"Per-lease. I saw how you two were. Gazing into each other's eyes, no words coming out of your mouths and blushing so hard I thought your heads would explode. It's obvious that you two fancy the pants off each other like crazy. Why can't you admit it?"

"It's… it's complicated."

"How is it complicated?"

Like how I'm a vigilante crime-fighter, and the police and MI9 want my head on a plate.

"Look, if you don't tell Frank how you feel about him, someone's gonna snatch him up. Someone like, oh, I don't know… someone like me," says Livi. "OK, you can turn around now."

I turn around. Livi looks wonderful in a short emerald green figure-fit sequin dress with draped sleeves and black suede court shoes that elongate her bare legs.

"What do you think?" She twirls round in the dress that has a cut-out back design and starts striking poses like a fashion model.

"You look fantastic, Liv," I say.

"Great! Now it's your turn."

"Eh?"

"It's your turn to dress up now."

"Why?!"

"You're outfit doesn't exactly scream "Party season"."

I look down at what I am wearing – a dusty pink knitted jumper with a white shirt underneath and burgundy slim-fit trousers tucked into black wedge high-tops.

"I've got a show-stopping dress for you to wear and heels that'll make your legs so long that Frank will need a ladder to kiss you under the mistletoe," says Livi.

I roll my eyes at her and groan. "Oh, my God, Livi!" I say.

"Come on, Jen. You need to man in your life. You don't want to end up like a shrivelled up old maid, do you?"

I feel colour rush to my face, skin burning as I stare at Livi in disbelief. It's true that I don't have any experience at all; hell, I've never even kissed anyone before. I couldn't at school because I attended an all girls' school. It didn't happen in college because most of the boys on my course had girlfriends or they were gay. There was university, but because of my role as the Cat, I didn't have time for dating. I spent my three years in uni either having my head in the books or saving Britain. I mean, I pleasure myself, I watch the porn films and the clips on the Web, read the erotic books and I know how the technique of sex works, but… it would be nice to have someone to pleasure me.

"Why don't you shout "Jen's a virgin!" on a megaphone so the whole school can hear?!" I hiss.

"Sorry. Look, once Frank sees you in the outfit I've chosen, he's gonna go gaga over you." She puts her chin down and pouts. "Come on, sis. What do you say? Please? Pwitty please? With sugar on top?"

I hate it when she uses that face. That's how she gets her own way because _she's_ the spoilt baby of the family. Still, I sigh in defeat. "Fine. I'll put on a stupid dress but only if you never mention what you just said about the shrivelled old maid again. Got it?"

Livi claps her hands and squeals in delight. She passes me one of the shopping bags.

"I've got a dress and some shoes that'll fit you," says Livi. "Afterwards, I'll do your hair and make-up. Frank is gonna be speechless."

Oh God, what have I gotten into?

xxoOoxx

"You look awesome, Jen!" Livi grins. "Cute and comfortable – the best ever combination!"

I smile widely, placing my hands on my hips, looking pleased with my look – a red tartan sleeveless prom dress with stiff netting that makes it stand out, a black studded biker jacket, the sleeves pulled up and black platform shoe boots with all-over metallic silver stud detail. Accessorised with a gold tone multi row animal pendant necklace and black heart earrings. Livi also worked on my hair and make-up. Since my skin is flawless, I didn't need much. Just a slick of cherry red lip gloss and a dusting of brown eye shadow. She painted my nails in electric blue and did my hair in a fishtail braid.

Livi also gives herself a makeover – bronzer just under her cheekbones and over the apples of her cheeks to instantly brighten up her face, candy floss pink lip gloss that makes her mouth incredible and outlined her eyes with kohl. She painted her nails in scarlet red and slicked her hair back into a ponytail.

"Looks like I'm ready to party," I say, smiling. "Question is, Livi… are you?"

"Is the Pope Catholic? Let's go!" says Livi.

Exiting out of the office, I lock the door and linking my arm with Livi's, we make our way to the assembly hall.

**(Frank's POV)**

I enter the assembly hall and it seems that the party is going well. The sweet smell of the mince pies and Christmas puddings floats over the room. The row of Christmas wreaths against the wall and two glittery Christmas trees with a few parcels and presents underneath on the stage, where Scoop is acting as DJ.

I walk over to the food and drinks table where there is lots of fancy food, from miniature quiches to sausages on sticks and there is coke. Or the red wine punch that Mrs King and Mr. Flatley always give at Christmas parties because they don't want the pupils to get drunk.

I have a glassful of the punch and then I sit at the side by the stage, sipping my drink that tastes like undiluted Ribena, watching the pupils dance.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small, rectangular box that's wrapped in green crepe paper tied with red ribbon. The box contains a charm bracelet that I'm gonna give to Jenny. At the same time, I'm hoping to confess my feelings to her. I have to tell her so. I am dying for her to know…

"Is that for Jenny?"

I look and see Rose, Carrie and Oscar standing in front of me. Oscar is pointing at the green box I have in my hand.

"Yeah," I say. "It's a charm bracelet." I shove the box back into my pocket.

"Ooh, vey fancy," says Carrie, sitting next to me. "At the same time, are you gonna confess your innermost feelings to her?"

"Yes…" I hesitant. "No… Maybe… I-I don't know…"

"God, Frank! This is so _annoying!_ " Rose snaps. "You've been ogling after Jenny for nearly three months now. Every time you approach her or vice versa, you turn into a silly schoolboy with a crush. You say you love her, yet you haven't confessed it to her. When are you gonna grow a pair and just say it?!"

Oscar, Carrie and I stare at Rose, stunned. I've never seen Rose like this before. Rose herself is stunned at what she said and shrinks herself to the seat next to me and sips her drink.

"Rose is right," says Oscar. "If you don't buck up your ideas and confess to Jenny, someone else might approach her and sweep her off her feet."

"Someone like, oh, I don't know… someone like Mr. Flatley," Carrie jokes, nodding at Mr. Flatley.

Mr. Flatley is in the middle of the hall and he has a whole new dance style of his own. Bouncy-bouncy in his smart shoes. With head nodding and arms wriggling. I chuckle at the thought of Mr. Flatley trying to win Jenny over with that stupid dance.

"OK, OK, you've convinced me," I say, smiling. "I'll tell Jenny."

As I say it there's a whole crowd of people by the door, buzzing like a hive of bees. There are gasps, squeals and wolf-whistling. People who are dancing on the floor turn and stare.

"Jenny!"

"Look at _Jen_."

"Jen! You look so–"

"Amazing!"

"Incredible!"

"Super-cool!"

Oscar turns to the door to see what's happening. " _Wow!_ " he says.

"Why is everyone all going berserk?" I say, setting my glass of the wine punch on the floor and standing up from my chair.

My eyes widen and my mouth drop opens. It's Jenny and her sister Livi. Grinning as they stand nonchalantly in the doorway and they look _incredible_. Especially Jenny. I try to fight the urge to drool but I look at Jenny up and down admiringly. She looks magnificent. Especially with the legs she's got. They seem to go on forever, they're just so long. I wonder what they'll be like wrapped around my waist… NO! No, I can't... I mustn't think like that. Or so I keep telling myself.

Our eyes meet, and hold. She bats her eyelashes at me. Her smile is alluringly spicy. Oh, God, how I yearn to kiss those pouted red lips of hers…

"Frank?" says Carrie. "You're dreaming."

Yes. Keep on dreaming, Frank.

Livi pulls Jenny to the middle of the floor and they have a dance and then a laugh with some of the pupils. The boys stare at the sisters appreciatively. Livi positively glows like a lighthouse beam at the attention she's getting, but Jenny glances in my direction rather a lot.

She's igniting my flames with her racy repertoire, that she has me lusting after her is insane. I can't help it: she is tilting my world off its axis with her rapture of twists and turns.

"She wants you, Frank," says Oscar.

"Hmm," I reply, while never once looking at him.

Jenny continues to stare deeply at me while moving in place. Mm, I love her chocolate brown eyes. Passionately penetrating my senses as they smoulder with sexuality, they are stalking me with a look of want.

Gee whiz, I want Jenny so bad I can taste her skin. It's delectable, delightful and delicious. Her body will tremble from my warm embrace; my gentle touch will make her quiver. I'll pull her into a big, deep kiss. It'll brand her with the kind of kiss that would leave her lips red and swollen later. I'll caress her, tease her and please her. By the time I'm done, she'll shudder and shiver through an endless series of moans.

"Frank, are you listening to me?" I hear Rose say.

I shake my head. "What?" I say, finally coming down to Earth.

"I said, why don't you stop with the obsessive staring and go and dance with her?"

"Or are you too scared?" says Carrie.

"Guys, you know that I'm a lousy dancer," I respond.

"Hasn't stopped Mr. Flatley," says Oscar.

Mr. Flatley is still in the middle of the floor and he is still dancing that embarrassing dance that you see a dad or uncle do at parties.

I peer around for Jenny but I can't see her anywhere through the crowded room.

Carrie gives me a nudge.

"She's over there, Loverboy," she says, pointing.

I follow the point of Carrie's finger and see Jenny at the food and drinks table, pouring herself a glass of red wine punch. Probably to cool and refresh herself from all that dancing she did. She gulps the drink and pours herself another glass. She's about to take a sip when she spots me. Smiling at me, she starts heading in my direction.

"She's coming over!" I say, slightly panicky.

"Looks like that's our cue to buzz off, then," says Carrie, standing up.

"Good idea," says Oscar. "See ya, Frank."

"Guys, you can't be serious! Don't leave me. _Please_ , I don't want to be on my own with her," I hiss urgently.

"Grow up, Frank!" says Rose, as she stands up.

That's the trouble, I'm not sure I want to grow up.

Oscar, Carrie and Rose scatter before I could persuade them to stay with me. I look back to Jenny, who continues to walk this way, still staring at me.

My heart, threatening to come through my chest, is beating fast as she nears. Mm, those lips are so sexy. She's smiles with anticipation. That heated gaze is making me stiff.

There's no time to sweat.

Be cool, Frank, like the other side of a pillow.

"Hi there!" she says, standing in front of me, smiling.

"H-hi," I say, sounding like an idiot.

"You're not gonna dance?"

I chuckle. "Er, no. No, I'm not that much of a dancer."

"Hasn't stopped Mr. Flatley," she says, taking another sip of her drink.

She starts tapping her foot and clicking her fingers to the music. As she does that, I couldn't help but once again gaze at this exquisite creature that can be described as an African Queen. The cocoa brown complexion, the dark wavy hair that is braided and her equally dark, but gorgeous brown eyes. I'm not one to wax poetic, but they look like deep brown pools, pulling me deeper into their abyss.

"Frank?"

I realized that Jenny is talking to me. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Jenny giggles. "It's obvious what you've been staring at." She spins on the spot. She places her hand on her hip and poses. "What do you think?"

"You look good. You look really cute… really sexy," I blurt out before I could stop myself. "I mean" – I pull myself together – "stunning! You look really stunning!"

Jenny stares at me. To my surprise, a smile spreads across her face. "Livi said that you'll be stammering at my appearance. Looks like I owe her a tenner."

"But you do look incredible."

"Thanks."

She closes her eyes and starts bobbing her head to the music. As soon as she does that, I repeatedly slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. Why am I such a doofus?! Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

My mobile vibrates. I reach into my pocket and pull out the phone. I flip it open and read the text from Carrie.

_Hey, Romeo! How it's going? You give her the bracelet yet?_

I almost forgot that I have Jenny's present in my pocket. I want to give it to her, but after making a complete and utter berk of myself, I'm starting to think that this is a bad idea.

"Frank? You OK?" Jenny asks.

I look up from my phone and see that she has a look of concern. The concern in her gaze touched me. I put on a little smile. "I'm fine. Actually, I've got you a little present." I go into my pocket to retrieve the gift.

"Oh, my God!" she says as I pull of the green parcel from my pocket. She sets her drink on a chair as I hand over her present. My heart is hammering as she unties the ribbon and tears the paper off. She opens up the black box and gasps. "Frank, it's… it's… it's beautiful!" she says, and she gives me a hug.

"I'm glad you like it. Here, let me put it on for you," I offer.

Jenny pulls the charm bracelet from the box and hands it to me. Extending her hand, I hook the bracelet firmly on her wrist.

"There!" I say. "It really suits you, Jenny."

Jenny admires the bracelet on her wrist. The bracelet is sterling silver that spells her name. And between the letters of her name is a different charm: a flower, a key, an angel wing, a clover leaf and a heart.

"Frank, this is so wonderful," says Jenny. "If I'd known we were going to give each other presents, I would've bought you one."

"Hey, it's OK," I say. "You'll give me my present when we come back."

She strokes my arm gently. Suddenly, her eyes light up. "Be right back."

I wait as she fades into the crowd of dancers on the floor. What is she up to? She comes back a moment later with her hands behind her back, her cheeks shining salmon-pink. "Um… I-I was… I was wondering… if we could do this." Jenny reveals the mysterious item she hid behind her back. It's a sprig of mistletoe.

I gulp and blush at the thought of kissing Jenny under the mistletoe.

"I, er, got this from the doorway to the hall," says Jenny, looking pretty and pink. "This is just to say, er… thanks for, er, being here for me. Making me feel welcome and comfortable in the three months I've been in St Hope's. And also for the gorgeous bracelet that you gave me. I-I mean we don't have to do this if you don't want to…"

"Oh no, no, I want to!" That's right, sound desperate.

"Great! That's great. Let me, er… let me get into position."

Jenny holds the mistletoe above our heads. She closes her eyes and puckers her cherry red lips for a kiss. I swallow and closing my eyes, I pucker my lips and slowly lean towards Jenny. I can't believe I'm gonna kiss her! I've been waiting for this moment for almost three months. I'm so close to her, I can smell her sweet perfume. Nothing can spoil this beautiful moment… _nothing!_

_THUD!_

"Hmm?" Still in pucker-mode, I open one of my eyes to see that Jenny isn't standing in front of me. I relax my lips and open my other eye to see that Jenny is lying unconscious on the floor. "Jenny!" I exclaim, kneeling by her side.

_THUD!_

I look up and see that everyone is starting to drop like flies.

"What the…?" I feel something bite my neck. I swat my neck but suddenly, I feel dizzy and sleepy. My eyes… I-I can barely… I can barely able to keep them open. I… I fall to the floor… lying next to Jenny. My eyes are… getting even heavier. The last thing… The last thing I-I see, through blurry vision… is a dark figure… heading towards… me and… Jenny…

xxoOoxx

"Frank? FRANK!"

"Wha…?" I groan.

I open my eyes.

The voices, the people start to come back. I can see Oscar kneeling by my side, looking anxious but relieved.

"Hey, Frank."

"What's going on? What happened?" I ask, looking dazed. I start to sit up.

"Everyone in the room was all knocked out by some sort of knock out dart," Rose explains. She looks at her watch. "Looks like we've been out for about half an hour."

I look around and see everybody waking up looking confused, curious and a bit frightened. I look down to check on Jenny… but she's not there!

"Jenny? Where's Jenny?" I ask as I start to get up. I look around. Maybe she's with Livi. I look to where Livi was dancing... but Livi's not there either. "Where's Livi? Livi? Jenny? Where are they?!"

"Maybe they went to the toilets," says Carrie.

"No, they can't have. I didn't see Jenny or Livi when I woke up," says Rose.

"Someone must have taken them when everyone was unconscious," says Oscar.

"No!" I cry. I run out of the assembly hall and rush through the corridor. I still feel dizzy and my legs feel shaky but I don't care. All I care about is Jenny and Livi. I come out of the school, where I see tyre tracks on the playground. The tracks look dense, like they come from a van. I dart across the playground but stop at the gates where the tyre tracks end. I look left and right to see which way the van went, but to no avail. "Argh!" I growl, running my hands back through my hair.

Who would have taken Jenny and Livi? And what do they want with them?


	10. My Little Stalker

**(Jenny's POV)**

"Jenny? Jenny, wake up!"

"Mmmm…" I moan, slowing opening my eyes. I shake my head to regain focus. One minute, I'm about to have my first kiss with Frank under the mistletoe, next thing you know I wind up in someone's bedroom. The room is medium-size coloured in red and cream, and white carpet that looks soft and thick to lie on. There's a king bed with a luxurious red tog duvet and matching pillow not far from I am sitting, with a cherrywood drawer next to it. Opposite the bed is a large desk and chair with a flat screen television mounted into the wall. I try to move my hands but my wrists are tied behind my back. "Shit!" I mutter to myself. As I try to wriggle free, I look up at Livi. She's sitting across from me. Like me, her hands are tied behind her back. She looks very tense.

"Livi? Liv, what's wrong?" I ask anxiously. I look to see what she's staring at. I freeze in horror. "What the fu…?"

There's a mirror over the desk next to the flat screen TV and all around it are hundreds… of pictures… of… Livi. Fuc _king_ hell! The desk is like a shrine dedicated to her. Livi looking cute. Livi looking coy. Livi pouting, smiling, posing and prancing like a human version of My Little Pony in pink stilettos and skin-tight jeans. There are some pictures of Livi with her friends from school and college but their faces are cut out from the pictures. The pictures are taped up kind of slapdash, overlapping each other, spreading out like a cloud from the mirror's edges. Here and there, mixed in, I can see a picture of an exotic, romantic-looking boy in a mustard yellow sweatshirt with a red and blue checked shirt underneath. He looks foreign; his skin under the dark tan had an olive cast. South European, maybe? But when I look at the eyes behind his black-framed glasses, I see that his eyes are blue. Half European then, with a touch of Caucasian somewhere along the line.

Whatever his origins, he is undoubtedly handsome. Like an eastern prince. Broad shoulders, narrow hips with short, black hair, spiked straight up. Nineteen or twenty at most.

I look at the picture, taking in that smiling, good-looking face of this dishy dreamboat. And then I see it; one, stuck at the top, that I hadn't notice before. It's a picture of Livi with a boy at a club, but the head of the male partygoer is replaced by a cut-out head of the gorgeous, but now creepy and obsessive glasses-wearing boy.

Wide-eyed and a tad bit freaked out, I resume to trying to realise my tied-up wrists. Whilst struggling, I turn my attention from the creepy collage to Livi, who's looking uneasy but not as over the top hysterical as I thought she would be.

"Don't worry, Livi," I say, feeling the bounds on my wrists loosen. "When we get out of here, I'm gonna put my foot so far up this creep's arse that the studs on my shoes will be poking out of his nostrils!"

Livi is quiet. She tries to speak, but she couldn't find the words.

"Livi?"

"Why?" she says numbly. "Why is he doing this?"

"What?! You mean you know this Looney Tune?"

I hear footsteps and the key turning in the door. A head pokes out from around the door. It's the boy from the picture!

"Excellent!" he says, grinning impishly.

The boy enters the room with two of the biggest and burliest men I've ever seen, their heads as round as a football but with little prickles all over, a serious don't-mess-with-me haircut. Make that hair _shave_.

"Well done, Jeremy and Kyle," says the boy. His English is perfect but it still held a hint of an Italian accent. The boy walks towards me and Livi. He stands in front of Livi. "Hello, darling Livi."

Livi says nothing. The boy puts his hand under her chin so she has to look up at him.

"My, my. Don't you look _bella_?" he says.

"Hey, Captain Creepy!" I call to the boy. "Get your grubby hands off my sister!"

The boy turns to me and removes his hand from Livi's chin.

"You must be Jenny. Livi has told me all about you," he says. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ellis Molinelli…"

"I really don't give two shits who you are," I cut in. "What I want to know is why you kidnapped me and Livi, and why you have all those pictures of Livi on the wall?"

Ellis turns to Livi. "Should I tell her the story or should you?"

She stays quiet.

"OK, I'll tell her," he says and turn to me. "It all started three months ago. It was the first day of uni. I was feeling very nervous as I'm very far away from home (I'm from Italy) and I had no one to talk to. I felt so lonely. That is until the most _bella ragazza_ in the world approaches me and introduces herself as Livi Brownstone. When I saw her, I was immediately taken by her exotic beauty. Never before had I seen such beauty in a woman. The thought of me approaching someone like her would have mortified me – I could never gather up enough courage to talk to her. But when she came to me, my head was swirling in shock and my stomach was filled with nervousness and excitement. She did most of the talking. I couldn't think of a thing to say. I was just sitting there dying, wishing I could come out with something, _anything_. Then she asked me if I wanted to grab lunch after lectures with her. So I said yes. We went to a Pizza Express, where we ordered the classic margherita pizza and we talked some more. I tell her stuff and she tells me stuff. It turns out that we like mostly the same things: from the clothes we wear to the music we listen to. It's as if we were made for each other."

"So… what happened?" I ask.

"Livi and I spent the week getting to know each other and I was completely smitten by her. I liked her so much that I plucked up enough courage to ask her out for coffee on Friday, to which she agreed. However, I thought of this as a date and I turned up in a suit, carrying flowers and chocolate. When Livi saw me, she freaked out and she… what is that word? _Scappare_ …?"

"Scarpered?"

Ellis clicks his fingers. "That's it! She scarpered, leaving standing alone. I never felt so embarrassed. On Monday morning, I went up to Livi and asked her why she ran off when she saw me. Livi wanted us to talk about this later, but I told her that I wasn't gonna leave until she told me. She said that even though she's very flattered, she wasn't interested in me. Then I asked why she wasn't interested in me. Was it because of what I wore that day or didn't she like me at all? And what did you say, Livi?"

"Please don't make me say it, Ellis," says Livi, shaking her head.

" _What_ did you say?" He turns to Livi. His eyes are piercing. It makes Livi acutely uncomfortable.

Livi sighs. "I said that I liked you a lot, but not in that way," she responds quietly.

Ellis nods his head. "Mmm-hmm. Then you had the nerve to say we should forget that this ever happened. But how _can_ I forget? You and I were made for each other. _You_ are the love of my life!"

"Ellis, we went out once," Livi reasons. "The only reason I spent all week with you is because no one else did."

"We–" Ellis places his hand on his chest. "We connected!" he snaps.

"A-anyway… what happened next?" I ask, trying to calm Ellis down.

Ellis shakes his head, and frowns. "Nothing. Nothing happened. We went our separate ways. I went back to being Billy no-mates, while Livi went to party with her friends and flirted with every Tom, Dick and Harry that came her way. I… I just couldn't get what I did wrong. I was attentive, charming and acted like a gentleman towards Livi… and she throws it back in my face!"

"What about the pictures on the wall?"

Ellis twitches his nose to hitch his glasses into place and moves over to the work desk. "These are from her Facebook page. You see, I've been watching you, Livi." He turns to her. "Not just on Facebook and Twitter… but in real life."

"What?" Livi stammers.

"For the past three months, you, Livi, have been under constant surveillance. I've been following you like a dog wanting to be loved. I would follow you to the library after lectures, where you would study and do some reading. I take the pleasure in watching and observing you. I just love how you'd concentrate hard on your work. Afterwards, I would follow you home. I would stand outside your house – out of sight, of course – and I would fantasize about you, the girl who sits six rows and two seats over from my desk."

"Oh… my… God!" Livi says astonished.

"But uni and home aren't the only places where you would stalk my sister, is it, Ellis? You followed her to St Hope's today, didn't you?" I say, remembering this morning. I had a feeling that we were being watched.

"And _il mio Dio_ did she look sexy and attractive in the furry jacket? Anyway, after you and Livi went inside, I made a call to Rent-a-Thug and got two of the meanest and dangerous men in the business – Jeremy Baxter and his twin brother, Kyle," he says, looking over his shoulder to Jeremy and Kyle then turning back to me and Livi. "Rental for these guys is a thousand pounds each but luckily, I come from a wealthy family. I also provided them tranquillizer darts to knock everybody out and have them take you and Livi."

I give Ellis the most awful astonished appalled look I could muster up. I can't believe that my first kiss was robbed by this crazy little prick because he couldn't handle rejection.

Suddenly, something comes to my mind.

"Hey, wait a second," I say. "I can understand why you want Livi… but why am I here?"

"Ah yes, I almost forgot!" says Ellis, putting his hands together. "I am so _stupido!_ " He turns to the football-headed twins. "Kyle, get the dresses."

Kyle, who looks the most aggressive than his brother, walks to a door that's located next to the table that Livi and I are sitting at (probably the bathroom) and enters it. He comes out a moment later holding in each on his hands two white dresses, each held on a hanger. One of the dresses is a long strapless gown and the other is a short sheath dress with long white gloves.

"Ellis… what's going on…?" I ask slowly.

"You wanted to know why I kidnapped you, and this is the reason," he says. "You are to be a bridesmaid for the wedding of me and…" He turns his head to Livi.

My eyes bug out of their sockets. As did Livi's; did we hear him right?

"Wha-wha-what?" Livi says nervously.

Ellis moves towards Livi. He gets on his knees, his face inches away from Livi's, and says, "You and me are gonna be husband and wife."

Livi sits there speechless as Ellis' hand caresses her cheek. He has a mischievous smile playing on his lips while staring into Livi's eyes.

"So Livi, how about making me the happiest man in the world and become my wife?" he asks.

She doesn't say anything for a long time. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. Then she says, "No."

This is not the response that Ellis wanted.

"What?" he says.

"You heard me," she says. "I don't want to marry you. Hell, I wouldn't even marry you if you were the last male and I was the last female on Earth. You are nothing but a pathetic little loser who can't handle rejection. You're a creep for following me like a deranged stalker and lastly, you're a lunatic for having all those pictures of me on the wall. So no, I don't want to marry you. Not now. Not ever!" Then she sticks her tongue out to him. "Bleh!"

Ellis is so frozen with shock that he is speechless. He stands up and turns his back to Livi. I give her a triumphant nod. Sighing, Ellis runs his fingers through his hair. He tugs at it ruefully.

"I am so disappointed that it has to come to this, Livi," he says.

Suddenly he turns, and swiftly takes out a syringe with needle from his jeans pocket and jabs Livi with it.

"GYAA!" she screams.

"Livi!" I scream.

With one tug, the bounds on my wrists break free. Leaping from my seat, I ball my right hand into a fist. It reaches out and I punch Ellis really hard across the face. His head rocks in shock, his eyes popping like they're going to roll right down his cheek.

I feel a hand grab a fistful of my hair. The hand yanks me back and slams me roughly against the door frame. My back arches as it hits the frame and I fall to the ground.

"O-w-w-w-w-w!" I cry at the pain.

I look up and see one of the football-headed twins standing over me. He grabs me by the front of my dress with one hand. His _other_ hand is raised into a big fist ready to give me a punch.

" _Stop_ , Jeremy!" Ellis shouts.

Jeremy lets go of me and moves aside. Ellis walks straight up to me, his cheek black and blue by my almighty punch. He takes his glasses off and wipes them with his shirt. He puts his glasses on and takes a deep breath.

"You've got spunk, Jenny… and I like it," he says, smirking all over his face. "I like a girl who has got balls. Maybe I should have gone after you, instead of Livi."

"Fuck you, Molinelli!" I say, sticking my middle finger up at him. Then I demanded, "What the hell did you do to my sister?"

Ellis flaps his hand at me. "Oh, it's just a little morphine to make her weak and slightly less able-minded."

I look at Livi. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as the drowsiness kicks in.

"You see, I had a feeling that Livi would say no to my proposal, so before I had my twins kidnap you and my bride, I went to the local chemist and I got me some morphine," says Ellis. "I didn't want it to come to this, but I don't think she left me with a choice." As he says it he turns to Livi, who has conked out. Then he turns to me. "As for you, Jenny… as much as I wanted you to be a bridesmaid for my wedding, it looks like you'll have to be detained. Jeremy?"

Jeremy roughly takes me by the arms. He opens the door to the bathroom and flings me in it. I stumble but I manage to grab the wash basin to stop myself from bashing my face in. I turn and see Jeremy shutting the door. I run up to it and turn the handle, but it wouldn't open. I brace my shoulder against it and shove, but the door won't budge. Something must be jamming the door.

"Ellis, open this door right now!" I shout, hammering the door. " _Ellis!_ "

"Sorry, Jenny. I can't hear you over the wedding bells that Livi and I are ringing," Ellis says behind the door. "It's a pity you can't come to this wedding. You would have made a _bella damigella d'onore_. Anyway, can't talk. I've got a dream girl to marry. But don't worry, I'll send you a postcard from my honeymoon suite in Tuscany. _Ciao_!"

"Ellis, you get back here! Ellis!" I shout.

The door to Ellis' room shuts. I beat my fists hard against the bathroom door but… nothing.

"Ahhh!" I yell in frustration and fall to my knees. I shake my head and try to swallow back fresh tears. I can't believe this is happening. That crazy Italian stallion bastard has drugged my sister into marrying him and here I am, stuck in a bathroom and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm sorry, Livi. I'm so very sor–

"Mmmmmmmm!"

What is that?

I freeze. I turn around and my eyes darts from the basin to toilet to shower and bathtub, the bathtub covered by the blue shower curtain.

"Hello?" I call.

"Mmmm!"

I stand up and slowly tiptoe to the shower/bathtub.

"Hello?" I call again, more softly this time. Reaching the shower/bathtub, I pull back the curtain and gasp at the sight I see.


	11. Matrimony Mayhem

**(Frank's POV)**

I've just spent the last ten minutes typing away at the computer, trying desperately to track Jenny via her mobile phone. But so far, nothing. Either her phone is off or the person who has taken her and Livi has taken the phone. I've tried Livi's phone but hers is in Mrs King's office. Sighing heavily, I turn on my swivel chair away from the computer screens and I rub my eyes. I'm so tired, but there's no way I'm gonna give up. I'm gonna find you, Jenny and Livi. And when I find the person responsible for this, I'm gonna…

_SWOOSH!_

The elevator doors open and Oscar, Rose and Carrie run up to the computers.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"We found a clue on who has taken Jen and Livi," says Carrie.

"It's a piece of cloth that was caught on the door to the assembly hall," says Oscar. "Rose is gonna run some tests on it."

Rose scans the piece of black cloth with her Spy-Pod and types furiously on the keyboard.

"I've got something," she says.

A profile with photo pops up on the screen. The photo is a burly-looking man in his late-forties, with a bald head that has a few strands and stubble.

"His name is Jeremy Baxter," says Rose. "He and his brother, Kyle, have been involved in armed robberies, arson, assaults and kidnapping. They're also members of a website called Rent-a-Thug."

"No prizes in what that website is about," says Carrie, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He's left his email address on the website. I can hack into it and see if there's anything that can tell us where he and his brother kept Jenny and Livi."

As Rose starts typing away, I stand up and head to the lab. I go to the mini fridge and grab myself a can of Coke. I drum the top of the can with my thumbs.

"Don't worry, Frank. We're gonna find them," says Oscar, leaning against the pillar with his arms cross.

"Don't be silly. I'm not worried," I say.

Oscar slightly raises one eyebrow at me.

"I'm not!"

Actually, I am worried. I'm _very_ worried. There's one part of me that can't help thinking that something terrible has happened. But there's another part of me thinking that Jenny and Livi are OK.

"I've got something!" Rose hails.

I place the Coke can on the table top and leave the lab.

"Baxter has been hired by someone called Ellis Molinelli. They've been emailing each other for some weeks," says Rose. "Anyway, the last email that Baxter received from Molinelli was the on the morning of the kidnapping. It says that once Baxter has Livi and Jenny, he and his brother should bring them to the Rembrandt Hotel in Knightsbridge."

"And that's where we're gonna go," says Carrie.

"Hold on. Jenny and Livi can't see us like this," says Oscar. "If they do, we'll get relocated or worse, we'll get kicked out of MI9. We're gonna need a disguise."

"And I've got just the thing," I say, retreating back to the lab. Oscar, Carrie and Rose follow behind. I root through the cupboards until I found what I was looking for. It's a small black matchstick box. I turn to Oscar, Rose and Carrie and I slide the box open revealing red and blue disk-shaped tablets. "Behold – Age-Deceiving Pills," I say. "These pills have the ability to change the outer appearance of the person who takes them, making them either older or younger. The red pills render the user older, while the blue pills make the user younger."

Oscar, Rose and Carrie each take a red pill and they pop it in their mouths. Within seconds of ingesting the pills, there's a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, the three of them attained adult forms of themselves. Oscar looks incredibly lean, very muscular and fairly athletic. His hair is now dark and short, but straight and he has facial stubble. Rose has an hourglass shape: wide shoulders and hips, and a distinctively narrow waist. Her eyes are now slightly smaller and her dark hair is now cascaded around her shoulders instead of her waist. Finally, Carrie looks waif-like and slim but slightly more athletic. Her facial features are the same, but her hair is long, fantastically plaited and tied in a ponytail gathered at the middle of the back of her head that falls to her shoulders.

"Whoa!" says Oscar in his deep voice. "We must have aged about ten years!"

"I look so sexy!" Carrie says excitedly, posing like a fashion model.

"This is incredible, Frank!" says Rose, completely gobsmacked. "How long will we look like this?"

"The effects usually last for about half a day," I say.

"Twelve hours?! I can't go home like this!" Rose exclaims.

"Don't worry, you and Carrie can stay with me until the effects wears off," says Oscar. "Right now, we've got some friends to save."

"And some kidnapper's butts to kick," says Carrie, cracking her knuckles.

"Be careful, agents," I say.

Nodding their heads, Rose, Oscar and Carrie leave HQ.

"Hold on, Jenny and Livi. Help is on the way," I say to myself.

**(Jenny's POV)**

" _Mmmmmmmm!"_

_What is that?_

_I freeze. I turn around and my eyes darts from the basin to toilet to shower and bathtub, the bathtub covered by the blue shower curtain._

" _Hello?" I call._

" _Mmmm!"_

_I stand up and slowly tiptoe to the shower/bathtub._

" _Hello?" I call again, more softly this time. Reaching the shower/bathtub, I pull back the curtain and gasp at the sight I see._

It's a girl. She's lying in the bathtub with some brooms, mops and sponges, her wrists and ankles bound together with white cloth and her mouth is covered up with gaffer tape. The girl looks about the same age as me. She has a pretty, oval face with big, dark eyes, and piles of frizzy brown hair that she swept straight back and kept in place with a long, pearl-white hairband. She's wearing a white waist apron over a black pencil dress that falls just about the knees, with three quarter length sleeves and white collar, and white plimsolls.

"Oh, my God," I say. I carefully remove the tape from the girl's mouth.

The girl gasps for air. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" she says. She has a high-pitched voice. She sounds like a mouse.

"Are you OK?" I ask, as I untie the cloth from her wrists and ankles.

"I-I-I think so."

"What's your name?"

"I'm April. April Fields. I'm the housekeeper of the Rembrandt Hotel."

"Hotel?"

"Yes, we're located in the exclusive area of Knightsbridge. Who are you?"

"I'm Jenny Brownstone. What happened?"

"This room hasn't been cleaned in days and this morning, Mrs Chamberlain, the head housekeeper, said that whether the guest liked it or not, the room was getting cleaned and got me to do it. So when I got in the room, the first thing I saw was those pictures on the wall. I was so shaken; I didn't hear the door open or footsteps entering the room. A cloth was put over my mouth and I was bundled in here, all tied up. The man said that if I screamed for help, he'd kill me."

"Well, I'm here now. Don't worry, April, I'll get us out of here."

"How?" she asks, climbing out of the shower/bathtub.

"Hmmm… that's a good question." I look around the bathroom to see if I could use something to break me and April out of here. I spot a white cabinet sitting next to the shower/bathtub. I open the cabinet and it's filled with white towels and bath oils, soaps and bubbles of all scents… along with cleaning products such as detergents, disinfectants and bleaches, and some rubber gloves. Those bald football-headed bullies must have stashed them in here. I take out the cleaning products and start reading the labels on the back of the bottles.

"Er… what are you doing?" April asks curiously.

"I'm looking for hydrochloric or hydrofluoric acid," I reply, still reading the labels.

"Huh?"

"Hydrochloric or hydrofluoric acid is a highly corrosive compound that can burn through anything – clothes, skin, even doors," I say, nodding to the door. "So one of these cleaning products might contain one of the two compounds."

"Then it looks like you might need a helping hand."

April joins me by the cabinet and starts reading the labels. After a few minutes, she finds something that contains hydrochloric acid. It's Cleenol Acid Toilet Cleaner – a strong hydrochloric acid based limescale and stain remover. That's good enough for me.

"Great. Now before I melt away the door handle with this, we're gonna need to open that bathroom window as wide as possible, as well as cover our noses and mouths as this kind of acid can form acidic mist that can have corrosive effects on human tissue when inhaled, with the potential to damage respiratory organs," I say, putting on the yellow rubber gloves and twist the cap of the bottle.

April goes to the window above the toilet and opens it widely. I hand her a towel from the cabinet, which she places over her nose and mouth. I do the same as I remove the cap from the toilet cleaner. Careful as I can be, I take the bottle to the door. Reaching the door, I pour the bottle all over it and the handle, being extra careful that the liquid doesn't get on me. When I finish pouring, I back away from the door as the acid starts to eat away at that it. Within seconds, the hydrochloric acid burns a hole through the door, as well as the chair that jammed the handle.

"April, pass me the mop," I say, with the towel over my mouth.

April passes me the mop and standing in front of the basin, I use the mop to open the door and push the chair away.

"Let's go," I say, dropping the mop and exiting the bathroom, being careful not to step in any acid puddles. April follows after me. We leave the bedroom, closing the door behind us. We remove the towels from our mouths and breathe in fresh air. "Right. First things first… call the hotel manager. Tell him or her that there's been an incident and they should call the police… and maybe an ambulance."

"That's a good idea. Except for one tiny problem…" April says, pointing behind me.

I turn to see one of the football-headed twins standing several yards from where me and April are standing, his face angry and red.

"So… Phil Mitchell wants to play, does he?" I say, taking off my shoes and kicking them to the side. "Well, all I can say is bring… it… on!"

I beckon my hands to signal the football-headed twin to come here. With a smirk on his face, the twin comes charging towards me and April. I start charging towards the twin. As we draw nearer, the twins' hand is balled into a fist, ready to strike me but I gain the upper hand by throwing the towel I have in my hand in his face. While he's distracted, I smash my elbow into his stomach not only knocking the wind out of him but causing a powerful, blunt damage.

"Oomph!" the twin grunts, clutching his stomach. As he's doing that, I raise my right foot upward, and then lower it, striking him and knocking him to the ground. "Uuuh…" he groans.

I finish the twin off by striking the side of his neck with a karate chop, which instantly renders him unconscious but otherwise unharmed.

"That's fixed _you_ ," I say, dusting off my hands.

"OMG. That was _awesome!_ " April squeals, catching up to me.

"Thanks. You better stay with baldy and call the hotel manager from here. If he wakes up, kick him really hard in the stomach."

"You got it, Jen." April goes to the unconscious twin. She takes out her mobile phone from her waist apron and calls the manager.

"By the way… does this hotel do weddings?" I ask April.

"Yes. The Rembrandt Hotel has a long and proud reputation as a Knightsbridge wedding venue."

"What room would a bride, groom and witness be in?"

"That'll be the Victoria Suite. It's located next to the lobby."

I take off. I look over shoulder and call to April, "Thanks, April!"

I run along the corridor, making for the elevator. I press the 'G' button of the elevator and down it goes, so fast that I feel my stomach going up. I leap off the elevator as soon as it opens. It's a relief to step out on ground level at last. I run wildly across the lobby, with everyone in the room staring at me. But I don't care. Don't worry, Livi, I'm coming. I turn the corner of the lobby and reach the doors of the Victoria Suite.

I burst through the doors open and I march into the room. "I object!" I cry out.

The registrar stares at me like I'm a crazy person. Ellis who is about to kiss my drugged-up sister, stares at me in disbelief that I escaped and got past his henchman, while his other henchman stares at me in anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" the registrar asks.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Registrar." I point to Ellis. "That Italian stallion bastard kidnapped me and my sister. He's drugged her and is forcing her into marrying him against her will!"

"What?!" says the registrar, shocked. He looks at Ellis. "You told me she was drunk because she was nervous and needed a drink to calm herself down!"

"And to think that you were stupid enough to fall for it," Ellis says to the registrar.

"Molinelli, you've got about a fraction of a second to unhand my drugged up sister or things are gonna get physical up in here!" I say.

"You're too late, Jenny! Livi and I are husband and wife, and there's nothing you can do about it," says Ellis.

"We'll see about that!" I say.

Ellis turns to Kyle and jerks his head towards me.

Kyle stands up from his chair and takes off his jacket. I take off my jacket, along with the necklace and bracelet, pushing them under a chair. Kyle cracks his knuckles and his neck vertebrae. I just crack my knuckles. Adrenaline pumps through my body as I ready myself for his attack.

"Grrrrr!" he growls and charges towards me, his hand balled into a fist ready to smash my face in. Just as he takes a swing at me, I sidestep him, narrowing dodging the attack, causing Kyle to punch a hole in the door with his giant fist.

"Whoa!" I say, astonished by the twins' strength.

Kyle looks pissed as he sees me still standing in one piece. He cracks his knuckles once more and lunges at me but I do a backflip, kicking him harshly as I do it. I land on my feet like a cat while Kyle lands on his arse like a chump.

"Don't just sit there, _lei l'idiota stupido_! Get up!" Ellis shouts.

Kyle gets up and shakes his head. "ARRGH!" he shouts and launches into a flurry of punches that moves faster than the eye can see but I dodge all of his attacks. "You… Stop movin'!" he growls, still throwing punches.

I see my opening. I take a left jab counter-punch to Kyle's chest, making him stagger. Then I jump into the air, turning my body and hitting him with a rising uppercut.

"PIGYAAH!" Kyle screams, crashing into a stack of chairs in the corner of the room.

The impact causes the chairs to fall on top of Kyle, knocking him out.

"In the words of LL Cool J: 'Mama said knock you out'," I say, shaking my hand to numb the pain. I turn to Ellis, who's looking very miffed plonking my semi-unconscious sister on a chair and rolls up his sleeves, but the registrar goes to my sister's side. "Right. You have a choice, Molinelli; we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"The hard way! AARGH–!" Ellis says as he charges for me.

"For fuck's sake!" I mutter.

Ellis lunges at me; however, since I can't be arsed to fight him, I just give him a single powerful punch to his jawline sending him flying, his arms and legs kicking out wildly.

"GYAAH!" he screams as he lands on table and smashes it in half.

I go to the smashed table and see Ellis lying motionless, his glasses broken in half; his left cheek is in various shades of blue and purple, and his arms and legs spreading wide.

" _Lei ha preso il colpo il fotte fuori… il biatch!_ " I say to unconscious boy, clenching and unclenching my fingers while using my free hand to stick up my middle finger at him. In English, that roughly translates to: "You got knock the fuck out… biatch!"

I sigh in exhaustion, and I go over to Livi and the registrar. I sit by Livi's side and I hold her hand. There's a siren, the police are here. There's commotion in the lobby.

"Could you inform the police that the kidnappers are in here?" I ask the registrar.

The registrar nods his head and leaves the room while I comfort Livi.

"It's over, Livi. You're gonna be OK now," I say, squeezing her hand.

I hear the door open. I turn to see three black-uniformed officers enter the room and pose in the four-six stance. The officers are two girls and a boy. I can't help but think that they look familiar. Like I've seen them before.

"This is MI9!" says the boy, but is stunned to see Ellis and Kyle lying unconscious.

"What happened here?" the dark-skinned girl asks, relaxing herself from the stance.

"Never mind that. Could you give us a hand here?" I ask in a loud voice.

The Indian girl runs up to me and Livi, the boy pulls Kyle from the pile of chairs in the corner of the room and the dark-skinned girl leaves the room to get help.

"What happened?" the Indian girl asks me.

I nod my head at Ellis. "That stupid Italian bastard injected my sister with morphine."

"What's your sister's name?"

"It's Livi."

"Livi? Livi, can you hear me?"

"Unhhh…" Livi groans.

The Indian girl checks Livi's breathing, opening her eyes, shining a torch. "Your sister is breathing. Since its morphine, she'll be right as rain in three to six hours, but we'll need to take her to hospital and check her over," she says.

"OK. Thanks." I stare at the girl like she'd grown another head. She looks _so_ familiar.

"Is something wrong?" the girl asks.

I blink at the girl. "No. No, sorry. It… It's just you look very familiar. You look like someone I know. The same goes with the other two…" I dismissively shake my head. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm being silly. It's been a long day. Take no notice of me. I'm sorry."

"It's OK. The best thing you can do is try to forget about today."

"Easier said than done."

The doors open and the paramedics arrive. They move Livi onto a stretcher and they wheel her away. I follow behind, picking up my jacket and jewellery on the way out. I walk through the lobby and it's turned into a circus: the guests are talking to the police, the police are talking to April, the registrar and the hotel manager, and two policemen are taking away the football-headed twin that April was keeping an eye on. Outside the hotel, there are people crowding. Some are taking pictures with their phones while others are Tweeting. The paramedics lift Livi into the ambulance. I climb in and sit beside her in the van. The siren starts and the ambulance drives off to the hospital.

**(Frank's POV)**

I hate the hospital. My heart starts pounding as soon as I get off the bus and see the big red building with its tower and chimney and endless odd extensions, like a perverted version of a fairy castle. People always go on about hospital smells but its hospital _colour_ that I can't stand. There are hideous orange plastic chairs in the waiting areas. I shudder at the sight of them and I walk over to the reception area.

"Can I help you?" says the receptionist.

"I'm looking for Livi Brownstone," I say.

"Ah yes. She's upstairs, in the room at the end."

I thank the receptionist and I make for the stairs. When I get on the first floor, I down the corridor and into the ward where three policemen are standing in front of three curtained cubicles. Probably the Baxter brothers and the person who ordered them to kidnap Jenny and Livi. I proceed down the ward, walking past patients who look pale and are lying listlessly on their pillows or patients who are sitting upright on their beds and having meals or talking to their loved-ones until I reach the cubicle at the end.

I approach Livi's bed. She's lying on her back, fast asleep like a baby. She looks so peaceful.

"Frank?"

I look round startled. It's Jenny.

"Hi," I say. "I… I just came to see how you and Livi are."

"Oh, I'm fine. So is Livi. They're gonna keep her here overnight, so she'll be out of here tomorrow," says Jenny. "D'you wanna have a seat?"

I nod my head and take a seat by Livi's bed while Jenny sits on Livi's bed, taking her hand and running a thumb over Livi's knuckles.

"So… where's Mrs King?" I ask.

Her lips curl up in a smile. "Probably scaring every doctor and nurse in this hospital demanding to know why no-one is treating Livi," says Jenny.

I chuckle but at the same time I fidget in my chair. I feel very uncomfortable in my surroundings. I catch Jenny watching me.

"Are you OK?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'm fine, it's just…" I sigh. "I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps."

"We could go somewhere else to talk…"

"No, no, it's OK. I'm fine, really."

There's a little silence. I really don't know what to say in situations like this.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask before I could stop myself. I slap my forehead. "D'oh! That was a stupid question. Of course you don't want to talk about it. You and Livi want to forget that today never happened…"

"Frank, Frank, it's OK," says Jenny, taking a seat next to me. There's a tiny pause. "It was pretty scary, though. And all because he got rejected."

Jenny spends the next hour telling me everything that happened in the Rembrandt Hotel. From Ellis Molinelli's story, to when he injected morphine into Livi, to when the Baxter brothers locked Jenny in the bathroom along with one of the employees of the hotel, to her quick-thinking escape plan to stopping the wedding and defeating Ellis and the Baxter brothers.

"So what is gonna happen to Ellis and the marriage?" I ask.

"Well, since Ellis kidnapped, drugged and forced Livi into marrying him, the marriage is void so it never happened. As for Ellis, the MI9 officer told me that he'll probably be deported back to Italy where he'll face trial there," says Jenny. She puts her hand on her cheek and sighs. "God. To think that a simple school Christmas party results into someone being put into hospital. And there was no alcohol involved."

"The most important thing is that Livi is gonna be OK thanks to you. She's lucky to have you as a sister."

Jenny takes hold of my hand, her thumb sliding across my knuckles. "Thanks, Frank. I really appreciate that." She speaks softly, looking into my eyes.

I look back at her, and then wished I hadn't. It's like looking into a mirror. Her eyes are cloudy with lust. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to give in to her unspoken invitation.

Jenny's hand reaches out and caresses my face. "You're really something," she says quietly.

My head moves closer to hers so our faces are only inches apart. I was about to make my move when I suddenly hear someone squeak in a little mouse voice.

"Hello?"

I pull back and turn to see Livi awake. She starts to sit up.

"Livi! You're awake!" Jenny cries. She is by Livi's side now. She takes Livi's hand and squeezes it, staring at Livi as if she was a ghost coming back to the living.

"W-where am I?" Livi asks, looking around.

"You're in hospital, Liv," Jenny tells her, looking greatly relieved. "How _are_ you?"

"I'm not sure. I feel weird, like I can't feel anything properly yet. Where's Ellis? What's happened to him?"

Jenny wrinkles her nose but she answers, "Ellis is in hospital – in police custody. He can't hurt you anymore. Also, the marriage is void, so it never happened."

Livi sighs in relief. She turns her head to me. "Oh, hi, Frank."

"All right, Livi?" I say, trying not to sound disappointed that she interrupted me and Jenny's almost romantic kiss.

Livi stares at me, and then looks at Jenny.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I…?" she asks.

Jenny and I stare at Livi dumbstruck, our faces growing bright crimson. We don't know what to say, what to do.

"O… M… G!" Livi says giddily, clutching the sheets at her chin, trying in vain not to scream. "I knew it; I knew it, I _so_ knew it! You two s-o-o-o-o-o fancy each other like crazy."

Before Jenny and I could protest, Mrs King arrives at the foot of Livi's bed.

"Livi! Oh, thank goodness you're all right," says Mrs King.

"Hi, Aunt 'Mione," says Livi, a smile locks on her lips and her brown eyes sparkle.

"I'm glad to see that you're back to your optimistic self." Mrs King sees me. "Oh. Hello, Frank."

I nod my head. "Mrs King." It's bad enough that I feel uncomfortable about being in a hospital and having Livi tease me about my feelings for Jenny, but now I feel even more uncomfortable with Mrs King here. I stand up and stretch. "Well, it looks like I better be off now."

My eyes sweep over to Jenny's approvingly as I smile.

"See you in the New Year, Jenny," I say.

Jenny gazes back into my eyes. "You too."

It takes all of my willpower to walk out of the ward and down the corridor. I get to the stairs when someone calls my name.

"Frank!"

I turn to see Jenny jog-shuffling in her hospital slippers towards me.

"Jenny. Is something wrong?" I say.

"No. No, everything's cool. It's just… well…" Jenny shifts from one foot to the other, her eyes searching the carpet below.

"Jen?" I gaze at her with concern.

Then it happens.

Jenny reaches her face to mine and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

I stand speechless as she pulls back and looks at me with those eyes again. I feel like I'm about to pop.

"Merry Christmas, Frank," she says, colour rising to her cheeks.

I blush, trying to swallow with a throat suddenly dry of saliva. "M-m-m…" I clear my throat. "Merry Christmas, Jenny."

She smiles, turns and heads down the corridor. I can't resist staring at her hips as they sashay. Jenny doesn't turn around, but something tells her that my eyes are on her the whole way.

I touch my cheek where Jenny kissed me. I can't take it in. I can't believe this happened. It's like a dream come true. I don't breathe until I get outside the hospital.

I grin triumphantly and march to the bus stop. I feel like singing and dancing and punching the air. It may not be a kiss on the lips that I wanted but I'm satisfied. I think Jenny and I may be halfway there into becoming a couple.


	12. The Nigel Forrester Kidnap Caper

**(Frank's POV)**

"This better be good, Frank," I hear Rose say.

I turn from the computer monitors and see her, Oscar and Carrie enter HQ.

"Yeah. Why did you call us in so early?" Oscar asks, yawning.

"Team, you've being given a special assignment," I tell them. "You'll be working as bodyguards to a member of the Royal Family."

"No way!" Carrie squeals. "Who is it? I bet its Kate and Wills. Or is it Prince Harry?"

"Maybe its Charles and Camilla," says Oscar.

"Or maybe it's the Queen!" says Rose.

"Actually, it's none of the above. You've been enlisted to keep an eye on… Nigel Forrester!" I say.

Rose, Oscar and Carrie stare at me in confused silence.

"I'm sorry, who?" says Carrie.

I turn on the middle computer monitor, showing a photo of the eighteen-year-old brown-haired, blue-eyed Royal. "Nigel Forrester is the 9th Duke of Lessex and a distant cousin to Princes William and Harry. He is the son of Captain Henry Forrester of the Royal Navy, the 8th Duke of Lessex and Lady Imogen Waverly. Ten days ago, Captain Forrester and Lady Waverly received an anonymous letter." I hold up the letter and pass it over to young spies.

"'I demand the sum of £2 million in cash to be paid. If you fail to pay, I will kidnap your son'," Oscar reads.

"A demand letter," says Rose.

"Why is the letter crumpled up?" Carrie asks.

"Thinking that this was someone's idea of a joke, Captain Forrester scrunched up the letter and threw it away. Then five days later, he got another letter," I say, handing the second letter to Carrie.

"'Unless you pay, your son will be kidnapped'," Carrie reads.

"And yesterday they received this." I hand the third letter to Rose.

"'You have not paid. Your son will be taken from you tomorrow, the 29th. It will cost you £3 million to recover him'," Rose reads.

"The 29th is today!" says Oscar.

"So where will the Duke be for us to protect him?" Carrie asks.

"Chief Agent Stark, who is in charge of this mission, has arranged for the family to visit St Hope's so it'll be easier for us to keep an eye on the Duke," I say.

"Great, Chief Agent Stark. That's all we need," Carrie says gloomily, crossing her arms over her chest.

My mobile rings. I pull the mobile out of my pocket and glance at the caller ID. "Good morning, Chief Agent Stark," I answer.

"London, we've got a problem," says Stark, not bothering to say good morning back.

"What is it?"

"I received a call from Captain Forrester this morning. Lady Waverly has been poisoned..."

"Poisoned?!"

"Frank, what's go–?" Rose begins.

"Ssh," I say, flapping my left hand to hush Rose.

"Sorry, I mean _mildly_ poisoned," says Stark. "She was admitted to hospital last night. The doctor has told the Captain that there is no danger, but it would be a day or two before Lady Waverly would be able to get about again."

"So what's gonna happen now?"

"Today will still go ahead as planned. I'm gonna take all due precautions and have some of _my_ best agents come down to St Hope's and guard Captain Forrester and his son."

"Very well, sir. We'll see you in a few hours." I hang up and let out a sigh.

"Frank, what's happened?" Carrie asks.

"Oh, erm, Chief Agent Stark called. He's told me that Lady Waverly has been _mildly_ poisoned," I say.

"Poisoned? What with?" Oscar asks.

" _Mildly_ poisoned. And I don't know what. All I know is that she won't be coming to St Hope's."

"Maybe the poison was for the Duke but Lady Waverly was poisoned instead," says Rose.

"You don't suppose that the would-be kidnapper and poisoner is someone within the Forrester household?" Carrie questions.

"You mean like a butler or a maid?" says Oscar.

"That is something worth checking out," I say.

"I could check out the Forrester household to see if any of the domestic workers left any clues," says Oscar.

"And I could check out the list of former employees of Captain Forrester and Lady Waverly to see if they left on bad terms and want revenge," says Rose.

"But that'll leave me keeping an eye on the duke," says Carrie.

"I've got something that'll help." I pull out a little black box from my pocket and I open it, revealing black heart-shaped stud earrings. "These are Hologram Projecting Earrings. These earrings have remote micro-projectors in them, allowing you to project highly realistic holographic images."

"Ooh. Very delicate and utterly delightful," says Carrie, taking the earrings and putting them on. She tugs the earring and a holographic image of Carrie appears. "Wow!"

"That's amazing!" Rose and Oscar say in unison.

"As well as retaining memory and physical appearance, the hologram has the ability to interact directly with the world, meaning it can touch and feel and communicate," I say.

"Well, let's give it a whirl," says Carrie. She extends her hand. "Hello."

"Hi!" says Holographic Carrie, shaking the real Carrie's hand.

"This is incredible!" says Rose, completely gobsmacked.

Carrie tugs the earring again and Holographic Carrie disappears. "Best gadget ever!"

"Indeed," I say. "Now let's get up there and prepare for the Duke and Captain Forrester."

Rose sits at the computers and starts typing away, and Oscar, Carrie and I leave HQ via elevator.

**(Jenny's POV)**

"I'm sorry, Nigel who?" I ask.

Aunt Hermione sighs as we drive to school. "Nigel Forrester. He's the 9th Duke of Lessex and he's visiting St Hope's today along with his father, Captain Henry Forrester of the Royal Navy as well as the 8th Duke of Lessex and his mother, Lady Imogen Waverly," she says.

"But why? I mean St Hope's is not exactly the best school in the country… or the worst, it's actually second to worst, but still why would the Duke and his family wanna visit a dump like that?"

"Who cares? Anyway, it'll be nice for the school to get some _good_ publicity."

"I can only imagine the person who's responsible for ensuring the Royal visits thought that the Windsor family were far too important to visit a place like St Hope's because they did their research, so they passed it on to someone who's not even a first cousin to Princes Wills and Harry."

"Hey, that's enough out of you."

While we sit quietly for the rest of the journey, I look out the window, at the bleary trees and house wondering out of all the (best) schools, why would this Duke of Lessex guy wanna visit the second worst school in the country. We pull up to the school car park and I follow Aunt Hermione into the brick building.

As Aunt Hermione and I walk down the wide, noisy corridor, I can feel all the kids stare at me with confused curiosity. I can see heads together and fingers pointing as they talk about me. There's a reason for this. Because of our special VIP, Aunt Hermione told me to dress… appropriately for this occasion. So instead of my usual trendy attire, I am now (smartly) dressed in a classic white short-sleeved shirt paired with a sleek black pencil skirt with a black cinch belt and black suede strappy platform peep-toe sandals with leopard print on the heels. The finishing touches include a red leather handbag, a pair of black horn-rimmed cat eye glasses and my hair done in a French twist. I look like a secretary working for some high-powered studio executive or worse… a young Aunt Hermione!

I don't recall getting into Mr. Flatley's office, but there he is, clearing off his oversized desk while he hastily finishes a conversation on the phone.

"Ah, good morning, Mrs King and…" Mr. Flatley pauses as he sees me. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Mr. F –" I whip off my glasses – "it's me, Jenny."

"Oh, Miss Brownstone. I hardly recognised you in those clothes. You look… different."

"She looks elegant. Classy. She looks… like a real teacher," says Aunt Hermione, admiring my ensemble. And for the next six and a half hours, that is exactly what I'll be.

"By the way, Miss Brownstone, this came for you." Mr. Flatley pulls out a small white envelope from his pocket and hands it to me.

As he talks to Aunt Hermione about the Duke's mother not being able to attend the visit, I open the envelope and pull out a small, black electronic cat head-shaped device – the cat-tracer. I stare at the tracer wondering why Zeke would send me this (I mean, who else?).

I place the cat-tracer back into the envelope and place the envelope in the handbag, and I leave the office, weaving through the swarms of pupils heading to their classes to the stationery store room. Once in, I lock the door and fish out my mobile from my handbag, and dial Zeke's number.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Moneypenny," says Zeke, in a Sean Connery does James Bond voice.

"Oh, ha ha!" I say sarcastically. "That was so funny I forgot to laugh. Now how about explaining the cat-tracer you had sent to the school… _Ezekiel_."

I hear Zeke shudder down the phone. "I take it you were told about the 9th Duke of Lessex visiting St Hope's today?"

"Yeah. Aunt 'Mione told me about it on the way. What I don't understand is why this Duke guy would wanna visit a school whose extra-curricular activity is detention. You would have thought the Lawrence Sheriff School in Warwickshire would have been the best choice."

"Maybe that was the tactic used to confuse the kidnapper."

"Kidnapper?"

Zeke sighs. "You're kidding, right? Haven't you been reading the papers these last few days?"

"Unless it's about our feline, crime-fighting friend the Cat, I don't give two monkeys. But pray tell, what have the papers been saying?"

"For several days there have been rumours of someone wanting to kidnap Nigel Forrester. The family have been receiving anonymous letters threatening to take the Duke unless the sum of two million pounds has been paid."

I nod. "I think I get the picture. My task is to place the tracer on the Duke so if the kidnapper succeeds in snatching him, you'll be able to track him."

"Well, yeah. That and to keep an eye on him so if the kidnapper tries to take the Duke, you can fend him off."

"I'm sorry, keep an eye on him? I'm a crime-fighter, Zeke, not a babysitter."

"Did I forget to mention that Chief Agent Stark and his merry men of MI9 agents will be at St Hope's to _try_ and protect the Duke?"

"Really?" I say in a sly voice, raising an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, I would love to play bodyguard to our little Duke of Lessex."

"There's a love."

"Well, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, Z," I say. I hang and unlock the store room door, exiting the room. But as soon as I close the door behind me, something solid crashes into me and send me landing on my bottom. "Ouch!" I say, rubbing my sore bum.

"Sorry, are you all right?" says a voice.

I look up to see Frank, his hand stretched out to me. I take it feeling my hand enclose in his warm grasp as he hauls me upright.

"Thanks, Frank," I say, dusting the back of my skirt.

He stares at me. "How d'you know my name?"

I stop what I am doing. "Really, Frank?" I push my glasses onto the top of my head. "Don't you recognise me?"

He still stares at me, a little confused for a few moments. He blinks a few times, finally recognising me. "Jen?"

"Hi." I smile.

"You look… oh. Wow. Erm, you look…"

"Like a teacher?"

"Yes. No! I mean, you look… incredible."

I feel my cheeks burning. "Well, don't get to use to this. It's only for the one day. Aunt Hermione told me that I should dress smart for our special guest."

"Oh yeah. That Duke geezer. Yeah, Mr. F has got me laying out the red carpet for him," he says, nodding at the rolled up carpet leaning against the store room door.

The school bell rings.

"I better get to class." I flip my glasses down onto my nose. "Talk to you later, OK?"

Frank gives a nod and I walk past him down the corridor, very aware of my body movements. My pencil skirt figure is sashaying and my breasts bouncing draw the usual stares. I wonder if Frank is watching me walk. Duh! Of course he is. I smile to myself as I strut into the classroom to start the lesson.

**(Frank's POV)**

"Find anything interesting so far?" I ask Rose as I enter HQ.

"No. All former employees of Captain Forrester and Lady Waverly all left with excellent references," she replies.

"Any word from Oscar?"

"No, not yet."

I sit next to Rose by the computers, where she's in deep thought, elbows propped on the table, chin resting on hands, eyes lowered and her face unmoved.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" I joke.

"I don't get it," says Rose.

"Don't get what?"

Rose lifts her head and looks at me. "Why wait until now to try and kidnap the duke? The kidnapper could have taken the Duke when he was a baby or when he was five-years-old. Instead, the person waits eighteen years."

Rose stands up and stretches, her bones cracking and retreats to the lab to get herself something to eat or drink. I lean back on my chair, thinking about what Rose said. She's right, though. Why wait all these years to want to kidnap the Duke? I look at the computer screen in front of me and see CCTV footage of three cars pulling up in front of the school gates. Two black unmarked cars with a black limousine sandwiched in the middle.

"Rose, they're here," I say, not taking my eyes of the screen.

I hear Rose come up beside me as we watch Chief Agent Stark and the other MI9 agents climb out of the unmarked cars and greet Mr. Flatley and Mrs King, who have being waiting outside by the entrance of the school building. Finally, the driver of the limo hops out and opens the door for the Duke and his father. They climb out of the limo and greet Mr. Flatley and Mrs King.

"You better get up there and keep your eye on the Duke," I say. "I'll stay here and monitor any suspicious activities or individuals."

"OK. Call me if you hear from Oscar," says Rose.

Still not taking my eyes off the screen, I nod in agreement as I hear Rose's footsteps leave HQ.

It's gonna be a long day.

**(Jenny's POV)**

"They're coming, Jen!" says Davina, entering the music room.

"OK everyone, get into positions," I say, sitting at the piano.

The class gather together and form a chorus line by the whiteboard next to the piano.

"All right, everyone, this is just like we practised. Keep calm and focus," I say. "Embrace your inner Glee."

I play the opening notes to the song that everyone in class practised. As the door opens and Mr. Flatley, Aunt Hermione and the guests enter, the class begin to sing.

"When Britain first, at heaven's command,

Aro-o-o-ose from out the a-a-a-zure main,

Arose, arose, arose from out the a-azure main,

This was the charter, the charter of the land,

And guardian

A-a-angels sang this strain:

"Rule Britannia!

Britannia rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

Rule Britannia!

Britannia rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

"The nations, no-o-o-o-ot so blest as thee,

Must i-i-i-i-in their turn, to ty-y-yrants fall,

Must in ,must in, must in their turn, to ty-y-rants fall,

While thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free,

The dread and e-e-e-e-nvy of them all.

"Rule Britannia!

Britannia rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

Rule Britannia!

Britannia rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves."

When they finished, there's applause. I raise my right hand and give the class the thumbs-up sign. They sang it good. Not good, brilliantly, not a word wrong.

"That was excellent, guys. Well done," I say. I stand up and walk over to Mr. Flatley and Aunt Hermione. "Good morning, Mr. Flatley. _Mrs King_." That feels weird calling Aunt Hermione that.

"Good morning, Miss Brownstone," they say in unison.

"Miss Brownstone, let me introduce to you Captain Henry Forrester of the Royal Navy and the 8th Duke of Lessex and his son, Nigel Forrester, the 9th Duke of Lessex," says Aunt Hermione.

Captain Forrester is big with board shoulders, muscular arms, and a wide neck. He has straight black hair with white ends that's swept straight back off his square forehead, and small, round blue eyes. He's dressed in his Navy uniform – a double-breasted, navy blue jacket; matching trousers; white shirt and black tie; peaked cap; and black leather shoes.

His son, Nigel, on the other hand is slender but quite tall. His eyes are very blue, almost turquoise, and his skin is very pale and clear. His hair is chestnut brown and wavy, worn in a pompadour hairstyle. He's wearing a black and white slim-fit woven suit, a white shirt and blue satin tie, and black brogues.

"How do you do?" Captain Forrester extends his right hand.

My fingers close around it. "How do you do?" I say. I shake the Duke's hand. "It's nice to meet you. I hope you enjoyed the song the class sang, Captain Forrester. It seemed appropriate for someone who is in the Navy."

"My son and I enjoyed it very much." He places his hand on the Duke's shoulder. "Didn't we, Nigel?"

As Captain Forrester touches the Duke's shoulder, the Duke jumps – he looks so nervous.

"Oh yes. Very good," the Duke says quickly.

I give a little nod. "Well I'll hope you'll stick around to hear the class singing God Save the Queen."

"Well, I suppose –" Captain Forrester begins.

"Maybe later," Aunt Hermione interrupts. "Right now, there are still parts of the school that the Captain and the Duke have yet to see – like our new equipment for the Science department."

I watch Aunt Hermione escort Captain Forrester and the Duke out of the classroom, followed by Mr. Flatley. I wait until I hear the door close for me to turn to the pupils.

"Great job, guys. Great job," I say. "Now how about we sing some _real_ music?"

The class cheer and we spend the rest of the lesson singing and dancing to PSY's Gangnam Style.

xxoOoxx

"I'm bored bored bor-r-r-r-r-red," I say to myself, as I wander down the corridors.

Break time has finished and I've been wandering the corridors for the last ten minutes, bored out of my skull. Normally on a day like this, after I've finishing teaching for the day, I would do one of the three things: hang out with Frank, go into town to window shop and have lunch or save London from S.K.U.L. or other criminals. But since my mission is to protect the Duke of Lessex from being kidnapped, I have to stay at school and I am not finding this fun at all.

"Man, this is boring," I say again.

As I go round the corner of the corridor, I see Chief Agent Stark coming out of a room yelling at three MI9 agents, "How did you manage to lose the Duke? Huh?!"

"Sorry, sir," the agents mumble, their faces red with embarrassment.

"Sorry?!" Stark screams. "You were supposed to protect the Duke! Follow him everywhere he goes! Even if it's the boys' toilets!" He points at the door he came out from.

"W-We thought that he wanted a bit of privacy…" says a dark-haired male agent.

"Well you thought wrong! What am I gonna tell Captain Forrester?"

As much as I enjoy taunting MI9, I can't help but feel sorry for them – especially the ones who have to work with Stark. Who'd wanna take orders from that arrogant smeghead?

"Idiots." Stark scowls and marches off, the agents following behind. Stark nearly bumps into me as he goes. "Had a good look, did you? Why don't you take a picture, it'll last longer!" he says, pushing me out the way. "Nosy little busybody."

"I would take a picture, but you're stupid, ugly face would probably break the lens of the camera," I whisper. I wished I said this out loud but I don't want to get into a shouting match with him. I stick my tongue out at Stark, who's still walking away, and I walk off to see if I can find the Duke before he does.

Nearly forty-five minutes later of searching the school, I find myself in front of a doorway of the one place no-one in the entire school, besides Rose and Aunt Hermione, would want to be in – the library. The only place in the school that the Duke has to be in. I silently slide into the room. Inside, I see that the school library is similar to a public library in that they contain books, DVDs and videotapes, CDs and cassettes, periodicals and other formats all stacked neatly on their own bookshelves in parallel to each other with merely enough space between to allow of the passage for anyone. There's a reference desk by the entrance of the library that has a grey-haired old woman, the librarian maybe, behind the desk (slowly) organising books. She's short, and looks about eighty, and thin like a pencil. She's wearing round glasses with thin gold frames. She has a lean face with pronounced wrinkles in her face and intense dark brown eyes, exaggerated by the eye-glasses. Her hair is in a tight bun and her clothes look dull and old. She's dressed in schoolmarm clothes, which goes well with the image. I take a few steps further into the library. To my right is the computer area, where there's a row of computers standing on tables and to my left is the reading area, where in the far back corner of the reading area… is the Duke.

I make my way over to the Duke, being careful not to make a sound in this calm and tranquil sanctuary that is the library. As I reach the Duke's seat, I pull out the cat-tracer from my bag and carefully place it in the outer pocket of his jacket. I take a step back and look at the book that the Duke has settled down with – J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

"I prefer the film to the book," I say, standing by his chair.

The Duke gasps in surprise and shuts the book up quickly, clasping it in his hands.

"What are you doing here? Are you trying to frighten me?" he hisses.

"Hey, sorry." I hold up my hands in mock defence. I take a seat across the Duke. "So you decided to avoid the MIBs?"

The Duke looks puzzled. "The MIBs?"

"The Morons in Black who've been keeping their beady eyes on you and your dad, mostly you, all morning."

"Oh, MI9. Yeah. I had to get away. All of them just literally breathing all over me. So while those three MI9 agents were waiting for me outside the boys' toilets, I snuck out of the window. I came back into the school and wandered through the corridors, being careful not to run into any agents, and here I am!"

"Isn't it a bit dangerous for you to go wandering around all by yourself when there's someone who wants to kidnap you?"

He hesitates and nods. "I suppose. But you're here with me, so I'm not alone."

"Well that's true. Just as long as you don't sneak away from me."

"You got it, Miss Brownstone."

"It's Jenny. Jenny or Jen, not Miss Brownstone."

"OK… Jen. And you can call me Nigel."

"Cool… Nigel."

I hear the door to the library open. I look up and see what must be one of Stark's agents coming up to me and Nigel. He's quite good-looking with dark eyes and long, floppy hair.

"There you are, Your Grace. We've been looking everywhere for you," he says.

"Yeah, sorry about that," says Nigel.

"No matter. What's important is that you're safe. Anyway, we have to go. Your father is waiting in the foyer."

"OK." Nigel places the book on the small, round table by his chair and stands up.

"No, wait, I'm coming to," I say, standing up.

"Oh, you don't have to come…" says Nigel.

"No, I want to. I want to see the look on those Suits' faces when _I_ explain to your dad that you weren't kidnapped." I turn to the floppy-haired agent. "No offence."

"Oh… well… OK," Nigel says reluctantly.

As I lead Nigel and the MI9 agent out of the library and to the foyer, I wonder why Nigel looked uncomfortable when I insisted that I wanted to come with him. What is he so nervous about?

When we near the foyer, I fling open the entrance doors and enter the foyer.

"Captain Forrester, I present to you your son – safe and sound!" I exclaim as I bow my head.

Silence.

I lift my head and see that there is no-one in the foyer.

"What the hell is going on?" I say. I turn to Nigel and see that the floppy-haired agent isn't standing with him. "Nigel, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Jen," he says.

I stare at Nigel, confused. "What have you got to be sorry abo–?"

A pair of hands grabs me. I turn and see it's the floppy-haired agent… or at least I thought he was an agent. I try to wriggle free, but he's too strong. I feel him put a cloth over my mouth and I immediately find myself in a world of darkness…

xxoOoxx

"Jenny! Jen, wake up!"

I groan. I can smell ammonia filling my nostrils.

I open my eyes. I can see Frank pulling away a small blue bottle from my nose while looking down at me with relief.

"Welcome back," he says.

"W-what happened?" I ask as I start to sit up.

"I was about to go for an early lunch when I found you lying unconscious. It's a good thing I always carry smelling salts with me."

I start to get up, but my legs feel shaky. Frank helps to keep me steady, allowing me to lean on his arm. "I'm OK. Really," I insist. I look around the foyer and find that it's only me and Frank in the room. "Where's the Duke?"

"The Duke?" Frank asks.

"He was here when I… oh no." It dawns to me. "Frank, they've taken him. They've taken the Duke!"


	13. The Mystery Kidnapper Revealed

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’ve been watching the Duke and Captain Forrester via CCTV for over an hour. So far, no-one suspicious has entered the school and I still haven’t heard from Oscar…

Suddenly, my stomach rumbles. I groan as I pat my tummy gently. I’m so hungry. I didn’t have any breakfast this morning.

This is why my stomach continues to rumble.

And why I can’t fully concentrate on the four-way split screen on the computer monitor. Each screen shows different parts of the school – no activity in the foyer, the second screen shows Mrs King and Mr. Flatley showing Captain Forrester the gym. But where’s the Duke? I look at the third screen and see Chief Agent Stark coming out of the boys’ toilets and yelling at three MI9 agents. Figures. They thought the Duke would do his business and come out, instead he does his business and sneaks out the window. I use the fourth screen to see if I can find the Duke. Nothing. I pull out my phone and text Carrie to use the Hologram Projecting Earrings to project holographic versions of her, Rose and Oscar to search the school for the Duke. After I send the text, I glance at the monitor and spot Jenny. I bit my lower lip as I watch her roam the corridors.

“Gorgeous,” I sigh. Leaning forward, I perch my chin upon my left chin as my eyes focus on this beautiful specimen of a woman.

I hardly recognised when I bumped into her this morning. She’s like a walking sexual fantasy come true. She’s dressed as a hot teacher – a crisp white shirt that shows me a good enough amount of cleavage. I long to run my tongue on her smooth skin, between her full breasts. A snugly black pencil skirt that accentuates her figure and black five-inch heels that give her legs an ultra-sexy lilt when she walks. And on top of that, she’s wearing glasses, which make her look extra intellectual. Her hair is pulled into an up-swept hairstyle that exposes her neck to me. I long to rake my tongue along the slope of it, to taste her sweet skin. My mouth waters just thinking about it. I wanted to say that she looked absolutely stunning, but I got nervous. However, I loved how she strutted off, though. I watched wordlessly as she sashayed away from me.

My phone buzzes. Probably Carrie saying that one of the holograms has found the Duke but I’m not interested in that. I’m more interested in the beautiful woman who’s wiggling and waggling her hips as she walks the corridors like a model who walks down a catwalk. I take the pleasure in watching and observing her.

I gulp as I watch Jenny climb up a flight of stairs. I can’t resist staring at her abundant behind. I really want to reach out and run my hands over the roundness of her tush.

My eyes never leave the monitor as Jenny approaches the door to the library. The way her clothes fit her curvaceous frame and the confidence in her walk makes me ache for her. After she enters the library, I shake my head, slowly bringing myself back to reality. I fish out my phone from my trouser pocket and I flip it open. I read the text that Carrie sent to me… nearly forty-five minutes ago.

_Holographic Rose found the Duke in the library._

I immediately start typing to get CCTV coverage of the Duke (but mainly Jenny) inside the library. As soon as the camera in the library catches sight of the Duke and Jenny in the reading area, I resume to staring at Jenny while she and the Duke talk. I watch as she sits on a chair opposite the Duke with her legs crossed, showing her firm silky thigh. I do my best to suppress the arousal I’m experiencing just gazing at the amount of flesh she’s displaying. Oh, how I wish those beautiful long long legs were wrapped around my waist, while her hot pouty lips kiss me as tenderly as she dares.

My eyes fly open (even though I don’t remember closing them) and I realise that Jenny and the Duke are not in the library. I look at the first screen of the four-way split screen and see the two entering the foyer. As Jenny enters the foyer, for reasons unknown to her, she bows her head to the empty room. She lifts her head and turns to the Duke, looking confused. As she faces the Duke, a floppy-haired man grabs Jenny.

“Jen!” I leap to my feet as I watch the floppy-haired man places a piece of cloth over her mouth, immediately knocking her out – chloroform! I rush to the lab and desperately search the drawers until I find what I am looking for – a small blue bottle labelled SMELLING SALTS. I grab the bottle and I leave HQ.

I run down the corridor to the foyer where Jenny is lying unconscious on the floor. I rush to her side and I fling myself down next to her. I lift Jenny’s head. I bring out the smelling salts from my pocket, remove the lid and I draw the bottle to her nose.

“Jenny! Jen, wake up!” I say.

She gives out a little groan.

As she opens her eyes, I pull the smelling salts away from her nose and I look down at her with relief.

“Welcome back,” I say.

“W-what happened?” Jenny asks as she starts to sit up.

“I was about to go for an early lunch when I found you lying unconscious,” I lie. “It’s a good thing I always carry smelling salts with me.”

Jenny tries to get up but I can see that she’s a little bit shaky, so I help keep her steady by letting her lean on my arm as she stands up.

“I’m OK. Really,” she says. Then she asks, “Where’s the Duke?”

“The Duke?” I say.

“He was here when I… oh, no. Frank, they’ve taken him. They’ve taken the Duke!”

xxoOoxx

“This is a complete disaster!” Stark exclaims. “I mean how did the kidnapper know where the Duke was?”

While Stark continues to pace up and down HQ worrying about _his_ career, I look back at the CCTV footage of the floppy-haired man who has not only kidnapped the Duke, but he also knocked Jenny out with chloroform. After he lays her on the floor, he turns to the Duke, giving me a clear view of the man’s face. I pause the video and zoom in on the man’s face. I type to find out who he is. After a minute, a mug shot shows up on the screen.

“His name is James Sowton,” I say. “He doesn’t seem to have any criminal record of any cautions or convictions.”

“Well, when I get my hands on that little punk, I’m gonna write up a criminal record so big that no-one on Earth would hire him!” says Stark, taking a sit next to me. “How did he even know the Duke was here? No-one outside MI9, other than Captain Forrester and Lady Waverly knew about the Duke coming here. Not even… _her_.”

“What, you mean the Cat?”

“Yeah. That credit-grabbing nuisance. You would’ve thought she had better things to do than try and solve _our_ cases.”

I glance at Stark. “Well, how about… on this one occasion… the Cat can… help us out?”

Stark glares at me. “I would rather work for the Grand Master than ask the Cat for help.”

_SWOOSH!_

Stark and I turn our swivel chairs around, and see Rose and Carrie entering HQ.

“Rose and I did wide scale search of the school to see if the kidnapper left any clues.” Carrie holds up a Blackberry and a note. “All we found is the Duke’s Blackberry and a note demanding the payment of £3 million to be dropped off at the east side entrance of St Pancras railway station.”

“How is Jenny?” Rose asks me.

“She’s fine. A bit shaky, though,” I say. “She’s resting in Mrs King’s office.”

“Still no word from Oscar?”

Before I can answer, the elevator doors parted and Oscar enters HQ.

“Oscar, you’re back!” I say, standing up. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Sorry, Frank,” says Oscar. “My communicator was running low. So, what’s happened here?”

“Well, the Duke has been kidnapped –” Carrie starts.

“Never mind that!” Stark rudely intervenes as he stands up. “What did you find out at the Forrester’s?”

“Well, you’re not gonna believe this, but I know who’s been sending those letters to Captain Forrester and Lady Waverly,” says Oscar.

“Who?” I ask.

“It’s…” says Oscar. A tiny pause. “It’s the Duke.”

We stare at him. “The _Duke_?”

There’s something none of us saw coming.

“Oscar, are you sure? This is Nigel Forrester, the 9th Duke of Lessex you’re talking about,” says Rose, sounding suspicious.

“Rose, I’m one hundred percent certain it’s the Duke,” says Oscar. “After I searched the servants’ quarters of the Forrester household, I decided to search the Duke’s bedroom, where I found this in his drawer.” Oscar pulls out a small plastic bag that contains several gilled mushrooms.

“What are those?” Carrie asks.

“ _Hebeloma crustuliniforme_ ,” says Rose, taking the bag from Oscar.

“What?”

“ _Hebeloma crustuliniforme_ , commonly known as poison pie or fairy cakes, is a gilled mushroom of the genus _Hebeloma_ that can be found in Europe and North America. They are moderately poisonous, the symptoms being those of a severe gastrointestinal nature, namely vomiting, diarrhoea and colicky abdominal pain several hours after consumption.”

“So, the Duke poisoned his mother with those mushrooms?” I ask.

“That’s not all.” Oscar pulls out a magazine from his trouser pocket. He opens it and shows us a page from the magazine with several letters cut out. “He also wrote the letters.”

“So, what you’re trying to tell us, Agent Cole, is that not only did Nigel Forrester, the 9th Duke of Lessex made and sent those demand letters to his own _parents_ , but he also poisoned – _mildly_ poisoned – his own _mother_?” says Stark.

Oscar nods his head. “Yeah.”

“But why?” says Carrie.

“When we find the Duke, we’ll know why,” I say.

“Don’t you mean _if_ , Frank?” Stark turns to me. “We don’t even know where he is.”

Suddenly, the computer starts beeping. I turn to it to see a giant red dot blinking on the screen.

“That can’t be right,” I say as I sit at the computers and I start typing to find out what’s happening. After a few seconds, a picture of the Duke shows up on the screen. “No way.”

“What is it, Frank?” Oscar asks.

I stand up and turn to the others. “We’ve got a location of the Duke. Apparently, he’s in Sydenham Hill Wood in Southwark.”

“How did we get a location? I’ve got his phone,” says Carrie, who is just as confused as I am.

“Who cares how we got a location? We now know where he is,” says Stark. “So let’s get going.”

“I’ll stay behind and monitor any movement the Duke makes,” I say.

Nodding in agreement, Rose, Oscar, Carrie and Stark enter the elevator and leave HQ, while I settle at the computers and watch the monitor of the Duke’s position.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I still feel hazy as I walk along the corridor to come out of the school but the cold air revives me. I wiggle across the playground to the school gates. I pull out my mobile and speed dial Zeke.

Zeke answers with concern. “Jen, are you all right?! I saw what happened on CCTV!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Zeke,” I say. “But as soon as I get my hands on that floppy-haired bastard, I’m gonna punch his lights out! Anyway, did you get a location on the Duke?”

“Yeah. He, along with the ‘floppy-haired bastard’ that the Duke left with is at Sydenham Hill Wood in Southwark. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I do. Don’t worry, Zeke, I’ve got this. Now, the question is how am I gonna get there?”

There’s a loud roar. I turn to the street, and there he is – Kenzie Simms, the Knight in Shining Leather. He stops his motorcycle in front of me and as he turns off the engine, he flashes me his trademark smile that reveal his two deep dimples on his narrow cheeks.

“Hey!” I call, waving.

“Your transportation for the day,” says Zeke. “He also has your gadgets, too. All the best.”

“Thanks, Z.” I hang up and bring out my wristwatch communicator from my pocket while putting my phone away. Flipping the communicator, I press the blue button and change into my catsuit. “Let’s rock and roll.” Kenzie takes off his helmet and hands it to me. “What about you?”

“You need it more than I do,” says Kenzie, winking at me.

I feel my cheeks beginning to burn as I take the helmet. I quickly put it on and climb onto the motorcycle.

“Where to, milady?” Kenzie asks.

“Sydenham Hill Wood, Southwark,” I say.

Kenzie nods his head and turns his motorcycle on. I wrap my arms tightly around Kenzie’s waist as we take off to Sydenham Hill Wood.

xxoOoxx

It’s nearly an hour later when Kenzie pulls up to a quiet corner of a train station called Sydenham Hill railway station, whose footbridge leads into Sydenham Hill Wood. “Here we are,” he says, turning off the engine.

“Thanks, Kenzie,” I say, climbing off the motorcycle and taking the helmet off.

“Now, gadgets.” He pulls out three items from the inside of his leather jacket. He holds up a silver belt with a black cat head-shape buckle. “First, we have the Net Throwing Extendable Belt Buckle. This gadget is a belt buckle that can shoot out a net to capture a target. It’s effective at twenty yards. Next” – he holds up a pair of black domino-shaped goggles – “Thermal Vision Cat-Goggles – infrared lenses to see thermal output in low light or non-lit situations. Reason for the goggles? Because of this –” Kenzie holds up a can of hairspray, “the Smoke Screen Hairspray. It can create a thick cloud of smoke.”

“Excellent,” I say, handing the helmet over to Kenzie and taking the three gadgets. “See you in a few, yeah?” I flip open the wristwatch communicator. “Activate cloaking device.”

After my body becomes invisible, I head for the entrance across the footbridge. I follow the Green Chain waymarker posts ahead and I turn left, going down the steps. I carry on straight ahead along an old railway track, passing an old railway tunnel. I go up some steps and head left until I reach the Sydenham Hill Wood information panel. After I turn left at the information panel, I follow a path and I go down the steps. I carry on until I reach a ruined monastery in the midst of the woods that’s surrounded by brambles and ivy.

But my admiration of the folly is short-lived because nearby, by some rockery, is the Duke, the floppy-haired man and a third person. A blond-haired, blue-eyed cutie with a full pout, who looks about the same age as the Duke but about a foot taller. He’s sporting a black leather jacket over a light grey tee, dark denim jeans and black and white Converses.

“It won’t be long now,” says the blond boy. “As soon as Captain Forrester pays up, we can put the second part of our plan into action!”

“That’s what you think!” I whisper as I swap my regular domino mask with the Thermal Vision Cat-Goggles and placing the Net Throwing Extendable Belt Buckle onto the buckle of my utility belt. Shaking the Smoke Screen Hairspray, I remove the lid and I spray. A thick cloud of white smoke dispenses itself from the nozzle of the Hairspray and engulfs itself around the three boys.

“What the hell?!” the blond boy splutters.

“What’s going on?!” the Duke coughs.

Turning on the Thermal Vision Cat-Goggles, I enter the cloud of smoke. Through the thermogram of the Cat-Goggles are the three boys staggering around the rockery like blind men in an orgy. The plan is simple: take out Blondie and his assistant, Hippy Boy, save the Duke and make MI9 foolish… again. In the words of John ‘Hannibal’ Smith from the A-Team movie: ‘I love it when a plan comes together’.

Nodding my head, I use my grace and agility to jump backwards into a tree and I quickly push myself off of it, reaching higher distances from the floor, giving her a certain aerial advantage over the kidnappers. In conjunction with the aerial superiority with the ability that I have, I execute this attack by jumping into the air with a forward flip, coming down and landing on top of the floppy-haired boy with my falling heel.

“Uuuh…” he mumbles.

“That’s for knocking me out with chloroform, you douche,” I say, staring down at the floppy-haired boy’s twitchy and semi-unconscious body.

“Jamie? Jamie, are you OK?” the blond boy calls.

“And you’re next, Blondie!” I say, charging towards the blond boy. When I get close to him, my hand balls into a fist and I deliver a powerful punch to the blond boy’s mid-section.

“GL… GLORBB…!” he gaggles.

I follow up by delivering a fierce uppercut to his chin, which sends him flying.

“GYAAW!” he screams as he lands in some bushes by the folly.

The blond boy shakes his head as he staggers to his feet, but I press a small button on top of the Net Throwing Belt Buckle. The Buckle opens and a net shoots out of it, capturing the blond boy, causing him to fall back into the bushes.

“And that’s the end of that,” I say, firmly placing my hands on my hips.

A gentle breeze comes in and starts to blow the white smoke away. I swap the Cat-Goggles for the domino mask and I deactivate the cloaking device. I walk out of the smoke to tie the blond boy with the floppy-haired boy, when I immediately stop in my tracks. I can’t believe what I am seeing – the Duke is freeing the blond boy from the net!

“Curtis, are you OK?” the Duke asks the blond boy, tossing the net aside and pulling the boy to his feet.

“I-I think so,” says Curtis. “I took a helluva beating from… I don’t know who. But I’m aching all over.”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got something for that.”

Then the unthinkable happens.

The Duke pulls Curtis’ face to his…

and then…

and then…

they _kiss!?_

“What – the – _fuck?!_ ” I exclaim, not believing what my eyes are seeing.

The Duke and Curtis pull away from each other and stare at me, their faces going bright red with embarrassment.

“The Cat!” says the Duke. “What are you doing here?!”

“Never you bloody mind that!” I shout. “I want to know what the hell is going on here! You can’t have developed Stockholm syndrome already. You were only kidnapped for two hours! Now how about explaining to me why you’re kissing your captor?!”

The Duke and Curtis sit in an uncomfortable silence, exchanging embarrassed glances.

“Tell me why!!” I demand.

“OK, OK!” says Curtis, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He looks at the Duke, who nods his head at him and he looks at me. “Nigel… Nigel and I planned the ‘kidnapping’,” – Curtis makes two quote marks with his fingers.

“Wha-a-at?!” I am completely dumbfounded. I cover my face with my hand. “Wa-a-ait, wait-wait-wait. Let me just get this straight: you and the Duke, the two of you, the 9th Duke of Lessex and the… whatever, the two of you planned this ‘kidnapping’?” – I make two quote marks with my fingers.

The boys look down at the ground, going all pink, nodding their heads.

“O… K…” I say slowly. I sigh as I cross my arms over my chest. “My next question is simply why? Why would you plan a ‘kidnapping’ that will not only waste _my_ time, but also MI9’s time? Huh? Go on, tell me. Enlighten me.”

The Duke takes a deep breath and sighs. “It’s hard to explain… Curtis and I… are a couple.”

“A-A couple?” I stare at the Duke.

I’ve gone from dumbfounded to bewilderment.

“Yeah,” says the Duke. “We met two years ago in September in Harrow School. Curtis transferred from Winchester College and I was picked to show him around. Curtis and I made instant chemistry and soon developed a friendship. Over the months, we continue to grow closer and then in February, on Valentine’s Day… I admitted my feelings to Curtis.”

“Awww,” I say, placing my hands on my chest. “That’s so sweet. And did you confess your feelings back, Curtis?”

“Actually, no,” he says. “After Nige confessed, I told him that I liked him too… but only as a friend. We remained friends until the last day of term in July when I realized my feelings for Nige. It was then that we shared our first kiss and after we came back from the holidays, we started dating, and we have been ever since.”

“Sooo what seems to be the problem?” I ask.

“It’s… It’s my dad,” says the Duke. “He doesn’t know that I’m gay… or that I have a boyfriend.”

“Ah. So he’s one of those really fierce old-fashioned kinds of _father_ dad?”

“Yep. He’s _that_ old-fashioned that when I leave Harrow this year, he wants me to marry a daughter of an MP.”

“WHAT!!? Is he… Is he serious?!”

“Yep. Once his mind is set on something, he’s not gonna let go.”

“When Nigel told me what happened, he instantly broke down in tears saying how he didn’t want to marry someone of his dad’s choosing,” says Curtis.

“That’s when you two decided to plan a kidnapping?” I ask.

The boys nod their heads.

“I sent anonymous letters to my parents demanding the sum of £2 million or £3 million,” says the Duke.

“And I obtained some mushrooms for Nigel to incapacitate his mum, so everyone would think that the ‘kidnapper’ poisoned the wrong person,” says Curtis.

“And where did you get the mushrooms from?” I ask.

“Uhh…”

I look over my shoulder to see the floppy-haired boy staggering to his feet.

“Oh… Christ did that hurt!” he says.

I turn to the Duke and Curtis, and I jerk my head towards the floppy-haired boy. To which the boys nod their heads in response.

“Jamie acquired the mushrooms from some friends of his in Camden,” says Curtis.

“So he knows about you two?” I ask.

“Yes,” Curtis replies. “And when I told him about the arranged marriage and our kidnapping plan, Jamie said that he wanted to help… as well as get a ten percent cut on the money.”

“Speaking of money, what would have happened in Captain Forrester paid up? Before I attacked, I heard that when the Captain pays, the second part of the plan would come into action. So, what was the second part of the plan?”

“Well… after my father pays the ransom and drops the money at St Pancras railway station, Jamie will collect the money and will leave a note mapping my whereabouts. After my father and I are reunited, we’ll carry on as normal until the day of my arranged marriage, when as I get ready, I’ll feign a headache and when my servants get me some paracetamol, that’s when I’ll make my getaway. I’ll meet Curtis here in Sydenham Hill Wood and together we’ll escape to Paris by ferry,” the Duke explains.

I raise my eyebrows at how well thought-out he planned this. Or so he thought…

“Wow…,” I start, “that seems like quite a plan. No flaw in it whatsoever. I mean, it’s not like Captain Forrester will place a tracker in the briefcase with the money so he can follow Jamie to the place where you’re hiding. Or, or since he’s a Royal as well as captain of the Royal Navy, he’s not gonna call on his _very_ powerful friends in the Secret Service to track the both of you down.”

“Ah,” says the Duke. “Maybe we should have looked into that.”

“Come on, guys. The only way everyone can live happily ever after is if you confess to your dad. The kidnapping, the fact that you’re gay – everything.”

“But –”

“Look, I know your parents, particularly your dad, will be furiously pissed off about this, but I know that deep down inside they love you and, in time, they’ll accept you.”

“Hmmmm…” the Duke hums worryingly.

“Don’t worry, Nige,” says Curtis, taking the Duke’s hand. “I’ll be there to support you.”

“Same goes for me,” says Jamie, coming up beside me.

The Duke looks at Jamie, then me and finally Curtis, into his eyes, his persuasive and very irresistible smile. “Well… all right.”

“Great!” I say, clapping my hands together.

My communicator beeps. I flip it open and I read the text.

_MI9 coming your way – K_

“Well, looks like I’m done here,” I say, closing the communicator. I go up to the Duke and pull him into a hug (and discreetly taking the cat-tracer from his jacket pocket!). “Good luck with your dad, Your Royal Highness.” I turn to Curtis. “Sorry for the arse-whooping.” I turn to Jamie. “Ditto about... you know.”

“S’alright,” says Jamie.

“No worries,” says Curtis.

I hear the sound of heavy footsteps and rustled bushes getting nearer and nearer.

“Gotta go. See you all later, guys!” I hurry away from the folly, taking a path to the right of the folly. I carry on down the path and I turn right when I reach a clearing of trees. I follow the steps back down to the footbridge. I cross the footbridge to the entrance, where Kenzie is waiting for me, his motorcycle roaring. I pile onto his motorcycle and we take off.

As we ride back to St Hope’s, I hear an _almighty_ yell.

“ _ARGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_ ”

The person’s roar is so loud that the birds fly into the air in terror and people stop dead in their tracks all over the street and probably in the next town, wincing and putting their hands over their ears.

“DAMN YOU, CA-A-A-A-AT!”

I smile to myself. I love you too, Starky.

“What the hell is that?!” Kenzie yells over the roar of his motorcycle.

“That, Kenzie, is my good friend Chief Agent Horatio Stark of MI9 throwing the world’s biggest tantrum!” I yell back.

God, I love pissing off MI9, particularly Stark.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I decided that I’ll check up on Jenny to see how she is doing… as I am mopping up sick all over the canteen at Mrs King’s request. While cleaning up, my mobile beeps. I pull out my phone and I read the text from Carrie.

_We’ve got the Duke. We’ll be back soon._

Smiling to myself and nodding my head, I pocket my phone and I go back to cleaning the sick on the floor… and the wall… and, oddly, the ceiling.

After an hour of cleaning up sick, I wander down the corridor to Mrs King’s office to see Jenny. I bring some Cadbury’s Dairy Milk because they’re her favourite. As I round the corner, I see Chief Agent Stark coming down the corridor and he is in a very _foul_ mood. I take a step to the side and I avoid looking Stark in the eye. Though, from the corner of my eye, I can see that the Duke is with Stark. Along with the floppy-haired boy (James Sowton) who chloroformed Jenny and a third person with blond hair. After the four go past me, I let out a sigh. I look in the opposite direction of which Stark and the three boys came and see Rose, Oscar and Carrie at the end of the corridor, by the staircase. I go over to them to find out what happened.

“Why does Stark look like he’s ready to kill someone?” I ask them.

“Only one person could make Stark that extremely angry,” says Oscar.

“The Cat?”

“You won the prize,” Rose replies dryly. “She must have placed a tracker on the Duke. That’s why it was easier for us to locate him.”

“Y’know, I wouldn’t normally agree with what Stark says, but the Cat can be a blank blank blankety blank, the blanking blanker,” says Carrie.

I raise my eyebrows at Carrie.

“Stark said some pretty _amazing_ words about the Cat,” she says.

“So, other than the Cat taking all the credit… _again_ , what happened?” I ask.

“Well, on the car ride back, the Duke explained that the reason he planned the kidnapping was because he wanted to be with his boyfriend…” says Oscar.

“Hold up, wait a minute…” I cut in. “His _boyfriend?_ You mean…?”

“Yeah. The Duke… is gay,” Rose states. “He’s being seeing a boy called Curtis Hawes for over two years.”

“You just saw him. He’s the blond one,” says Carrie.

“Ah. I was wondering who that person was,” I say. “Anyway, carry on, Oscar.”

“The Duke and Curtis is just one of the reasons why they planned the kidnapping. The other reason is because of Captain Forrester, the Duke’s dad. Apparently, he wants the Duke to marry a daughter of an MP.”

“An arranged marriage? In this day and age? Well, now I completely understand why the Duke did this. But what about the floppy-haired boy that was with the Duke and Curtis? James Sowton?”

“You mean Jamie? He’s friends with Curtis. He provided the Duke with those mushrooms to temporary disable Lady Imogen,” says Carrie.

“I see. So what happens now?”

“Well, Stark is taking the Duke, Curtis and Jamie to Mrs King’s office where Captain Forrester is, where the Duke will confess to what he did and why,” says Oscar.

“Mrs King’s office? Isn’t that where Jenny is resting?” I ask.

Before anyone can answer, a familiar voice causes me to jump.

“Is this a private party or can anyone come?”

Even before I see her, my heart flutters to my throat. A second later Jenny Brownstone comes up beside me.

“Hi. Why aren’t you three in class?” she asks Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

“Um, uh, I…” the three try to think of something to say.

“They were at the library doing research for a History project,” I reply for them.

“With no notes?” Jenny’s eyes fall on the young spies’ empty hands and she adds, “And no books?”

“Uh… well umm…” I try to think of something to say but I see a smile flicker around Jenny’s mouth.

“You should count yourselves lucky that I’m such a laid-back, tolerant teacher,” says Jenny. “Now, go on, back to your classes.”

Rose, Oscar and Carrie walk past Jenny and me and hurry down the corridor to their classes.

“It’s good to see you up and about,” I say. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” says Jenny.

“I, er, I got you some chocolate.” I hand her the Dairy Milk bar.

“Aw, thanks, Frank!”

“It’s the least I can do.” I feel my face turn red, but I recover quickly.

“Any news on the Duke’s kidnapping?” Jenny asks, while opening the wrapper and nibbling on the chocolate.

“Yeah. I heard Mrs King tell Captain Forrester that MI9 have found the Duke. I even saw the Duke with an MI9 agent walk by me about five minutes ago.”

“Thank God he’s OK!” She snaps off a couple of pieces of chocolate and offers them to me, but I decline. Shrugging her shoulders, she eats the pieces. “But who would wanna do such a terrible thing?”

I wanted to tell Jenny that it was the Duke who ‘kidnapped’ himself to escape from an arranged marriage and be with his boyfriend, but if she starts asking questions, that’s the end of my MI9 career.

Instead, I shrug my shoulders and say, “I don’t know, Jen. There are some people who would do anything for money.”

“Mmm.” She finishes eating her chocolate bar absent-mindedly and places the empty wrapper in her bag. She glances away and sighs.

“Jen? Is everything alright?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. No, everything is not alright.” She turns to face me. “Frank, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“OK.” I nod my head.

“Uh… I don’t know how to say this. I’m not very good at this, but uh… I want you to know that… I… I…”

Heat rushes to my face. I swallow – is this what I think this is?

“Um… Frank… I… I-I… l-l-l-li–”

“Jenny? Jenny, is that you?”

Oh, _no!_ Not now, Mrs King!

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” says Mrs King, walking through the door. Her eyes flicker from me to Jenny. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s nothing, Aunt ‘Mione. Frank and I were just talking,” says Jenny. “Anyway, you wanted me for something…?”

“Ah, yes. Captain Forrester and the Duke are about to leave and I wanted you to see them off. Also, the Duke says that he has something to tell you.”

“Oh. OK, then.”

Mrs King leads the disappointed Jenny down the corridor, leaving me to contemplate what just happened. Jenny was about to confess her feelings to me… that is until Mrs King came and intervened. I let out a sigh and I wander down the corridor. We’ll confess our feelings to each other, Jen. Not today, but soon…

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“I’m really glad that you and your dad worked it all out,” I say as we come out of the school and into the playground.

“Yeah, so am I. Also, Curtis, Jamie and I would like to apologise for the trouble we’ve caused,” says the Duke.

“Yeah. Sorry, Miss Brownstone,” says Curtis.

“Soz,” says Jamie.

“Hey, that’s OK. It actually kinda explains why you looked so nervous,” I say. Move over Angelina Jolie, there’s a new actress in town. I can’t believe no-one suspects a thing! The Duke, Curtis or Jamie don’t know what I do know, and as for Frank telling me that MI9 (per-lease!) found the Duke; my fake – and very natural – surprise acting sprang into action. And speaking of Frank, I can’t believe I was gonna confess my feelings to him! The Duke’s story about him confessing to Curtis inspired me to do the same… only for Aunt Hermione to come and spoil it. Don’t worry, Frank, you’ll get my confession – soon…

“Jen?”

I totally forgot that I’m surrounded by people. “Sorry about that. I got distracted there. Anyway, I think you and Curtis make a great couple, You Royal Highness!”

“Don’t we just?” says Curtis, putting his arm around the Duke.

“Nigel! It’s time to go!” Captain Forrester calls.

“Coming, Dad!” the Duke replies. “See you, Jen.”

He, Curtis and Jamie towards the limo and they climb in.

“Take care!” I wave. “Come back anytime… minus the fake kidnapping.”

Just when the driver shuts the limo door, the Duke climbs out and rushes towards me.

“Nigel, is something wrong?” I ask.

“I… I just wanted to say thank you,” he says.

“Thank you? For what?”

“For convincing me to not through with my plan and to talk to my dad.”

There’s a long silence as I stare at the Duke. What the hell does he mean by…? Oh, God, no. He can’t…? He doesn’t…? The Duke smiles sheepishly at me. My eyes widen. Oh, crap. He knows.

“How did… when… I mean…” My voice trails off and the Duke smiles.

“When you called me Your Royal Highness, your voice sounded… familiar,” he says. “But don’t worry –” he puts his fingertip to his nose and winks at me – “your secret’s safe with me.”

I stare at the Duke for a moment. Then my lips form a smile. “Thank you.”

The Duke runs back to the limo and climbs in. After the driver shuts the door, the Duke winds the window down and waves at me. I wave back as the limo takes off.

“Wow,” I sigh, placing my free hand on my hip and musing over what just happened. I mean who’ve thunk it? Someone other than Zeke and Kenzie knows about my identity – and he’s not gonna tell! “Thanks, Nigel,” I murmur.

“Jenny?” Aunt Hermione approaches me. “You OK?”

I smile and nod. “Peachy-keen.”

“Come on, let’s go back inside. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of coffee or two after the day we’ve had.”

“Agreed.”

I link my arm with Aunt Hermione’s and we walk into school.

Just another typical day at St Hope’s…


	14. The St Hope's Charity Fashion Show

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I really should be careful with what I wish for. After spending three weeks busting every bad guy and criminal’s butt, I had to wish for a break. I immediately regretted that wish when Zeke calls me to tell me (in a hoarse voice) that he has gone down with a cold from working too much (and too hard) and he has to stay in bed for the next two weeks. And with Zeke off, I’ve got no missions.

So here I am. Doodling on a piece of paper on a Wednesday morning, bored as hell. In my boredom, I draw and ultra-hip cool-cat version of myself. I make myself an attractive, anthropomorphic black cat with a peek-a-boo hairstyle (like Jessica Rabbit’s) that’s smooth and glossy and gorgeous, and I give myself cat features such as a tail, nose, ears and sharp whiskers. Then I draw Stark as a little fat mouse who’s frightened of me, all twitchy nose and scrabbly paws. I chuckle at the finished picture.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

Suddenly, there’s a loud sigh making me look up in surprise. It’s Avril – looking stress while sucking on the end of her pen.

“What’s wrong, Avril?”

“Oh, it’s one of the charities I volunteer for,” she says. “They’ve written to ask me for some fundraising ideas, but I just can’t seem to get inspired.”

“What charity is it?” Oscar asks.

“Orphans in Need – it raises money for orphans in poor countries,” Avril explains. “It buys them food, medicine, clothes… but they haven’t had any donations in the last six months and they’re worried that they won’t have enough for all the children they take care of.”

“Did you say _clothes_?” Davina asks, with interest. “Avril, I think I might be getting one of those things that people get when they’ve thought of something really good.”

“An idea?” says Rose.

“Yeah, that’s it!”

“Always so modest,” I murmur to myself. Then I say out loud, “What’s your idea, Davina?”

“How about we put on a fashion show?” Davina says simply.

I raise my eyebrows in amazement. “That’s, er… that’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah.” Davina nods. “We could raise loads of money for charity _and_ have fun at the same time. Whaddya say?”

“I’m in!” says Carrie.

“Me too!” the rest of the class agree.

As the class start to get excited and have similar conversations, I shrug my shoulders in agreement. Yeah, why not? At least I won’t be bored and I’ll have something that’ll keep me busy.

I hold up a hand for silence. “All right, all right!” The room quietens down. “I think we all agree that this is a good idea, but I’ll have to run this with Mr. Flatley and Aunt ‘Mione. If they say yes, we’ll meet in the English room at lunchtime for planning and preparation. Agreed?”

“Agreed!” the class chorus.

The class go back to their fever of excitement while I draw up a list of what is needed for the fashion show.

xxoOoxx

“…and with this fashion show, all the proceeds will go to the Orphans in Need charity,” I finish telling Mr. Flatley at break-time. “So whaddya think?”

“Well, I think it’s a marvellous idea!” says Mr. Flatley. “It’ll be a chance for St Hope’s to give back to the community.”

“Thanks, Mr. F.”

Behind me I hear the door open. I turn to see Aunt Hermione coming in.

“Good morning,” she says. “What are you two talking about?”

“Well, Mrs King, Miss Brownstone has come up with a wonderful idea,” says Mr. Flatley.

“Actually – and surprisingly – it was Davina who came up with this,” I say. “We were hoping we could do a charity fashion show. And the money we raise will go towards Orphans in Need.”

“Absolutely not,” says Aunt Hermione, without thinking about it.

“But Aunt Hermione –”

“Out of the question. The pupils should be revising for their mock exams, not prancing up and down the catwalk like some prize pony.”

“But it’s for charity! Look, you’ve always said that St Hope’s needed some publicity – and this is it. It’s like what Mr. F told me just before you came in, this is a chance for St Hope’s to give back to the community. Come on, Aunt H. The class is depending on me for you to say yes. Pleeease say yes. Please. Pretty please.”

I appeal to Aunt Hermione with my eyes open wide. After what seems like the most intense staring contest ever, she sighs in defeat.

“OK, fine,” says Aunt Hermione. “You can do your charity show.”

I give her a hug. “You amazing!” I say. “Thank you!”

“Yes, Ms King, thank you.” Mr. Flatley is about to give Aunt Hermione a hug, but she stops him by stretching her arms out.

The bell rings.

“Well, I gotta go,” I say, pulling away from Aunt Hermione. “I’m gonna text everyone the good news. Thanks again, Aunt Hermione.”

I exit the office as I walk down the corridor to the English room, I whip out my phone and I start to text.

_Aunt H said yes! It’s all systems go. We’ll meet in the English room at lunchtime._

I CC the text to everyone. But as I press send, I walk full force into something in the corridor, but a pair of arms goes around me to keep me from falling.

“Hey,” a voice laughs, “where’s the fire?”

I stare up into the soft sky blue eyes and dark hair… and a teasing smile only inches away from my mouth.

“Oh… h-hi, Frank,” I say, my cheeks going hot.

“Hey.” He lets go of my shoulders. “So what’s all this? What’s with the text and walk?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was texting everyone about the fashion show we’re planning.”

“A fashion show? What’s it in aid of?”

“It’s for the Orphans in Need charity. The money we raise will go towards them.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea.”

“Tell that to Davina. She was the one who _amazingly_ thought of this.”

“Well, I’ll let you be on your way. If you need an extra pair of hands, you know where I am.”

I respond with a smile, and I step past him, continue my way to the English room.

xxoOoxx

“People! Welcome to the first meeting of the Orphans in Need Charity Fashion Show,” I announce to everyone at lunchtime. “I’d like to thank you all for being here today. You’ll be giving your time and effort towards this great cause.”

I pause while everyone cheers and claps. When the noise dies down, I continue.

“Our first order of business is the planning of the event. I’ve compiled a list of what is needed,” I say, picking up a black marker. I write the list that I wrote during PSHE this morning onto the whiteboard: advertising and tickets, clothes, makeup and hair, photography, music, decorations and models. “Right, first off, who would like to do advertising and tickets? Advertising meaning the designing of posters and flyers.”

Scoop’s friend, Homie, slowly puts his hand up.

“Homie?” I nod at him.

“I’ve… I’ve got an older brother who’s a graphic designer. I could ask him to design the posters, flyers and tickets,” he says.

“Excellent! And once he’s finished, you and your friends could put up flyers and hand out flyers.”

Avril puts her hand up.

“Yes, Avril?” I say.

“Oscar and I can help sell tickets,” she says, turning to Oscar, who looks extremely surprised.

“Great. Next, we’ve got clothes…”

Davina’s hand immediately shoots up.

“Donovan and I have got clothes and fashion under control,” says Davina. “Also, my cousin’s a makeup artist and her friend’s a hairdresser, so I can ask them if they can offer their services.”

“Thank you, Davina,” I say. “Right, photographers. Who knows someone who’s a professional, part-time or amateur photographer?”

Carrie has her hand up.

“My mum takes pictures of me with my medals and trophies or me doing gymnastic poses for my blog,” says Carrie. “She encourages me to keep a blog so that when I am famous, my fans can keep track of me. I’ll ask her if she can help out.”

“Awesome. Now, I think with music, we’ve got someone who’s got that covered.” I turn to Scoop. “Isn’t that right?”

“Don’t you worry, Miss B,” says Scoop. “The Scoopmeister will put together some well-bangin’ tunes for this show!”

“I knew I could count on you, Scoop. Now, decorations. I’m gonna need some volunteers to decorate the assembly hall and set up the catwalk and for models, I’m gonna need some volunteers to model the clothes. So, if you want to decorate the hall, stay with me. And to anyone who wants to model, could you go to the back of the classroom so Davina and Donovan can take your measurements.”

The class separate themselves into two groups. Most of the girls in the class and three boys go to the back of the classroom, while the rest stay at the front with me. I pull out a tape measure that I found in Aunt Hermione’s drawer from my pocket and I hand it over to Davina, who joins Donovan and the models at the back of the classroom.

“Right, gang,” I begin. “Aunt Hermione has given us next Friday to do the fashion show, which means that we have very little time. But anything is possible if we all pull together and nothing can hold us back.” I hold out my hand, palm down. “Who’s with me?”

“Yeah! Woo!” the class whoop as they pile their hands on top of mine.

“Goooo team!” we cheer.

We spend the next week planning the show. It’s the most talked about event in school. The pupils have been doing their bit for Avril’s charity. They’ve been doing sponsored walks, bake sales and collecting donations. But I’ve got to admit, this week has been totally manic. I had to plan everything. From designing the backdrop for the catwalk to organising the decorations for the hall, the refreshments, the seating… _everything!_ I’ve never been so rushed off my feet. I’ve never planned anything like this before. But by Thursday after school, it seems as though everything is going to be fine.

The volunteers and I meet in the assembly hall for a final run through. I run my eye down the list.

“Advertising and tickets?”

“JJ and I have stuck posters up all around the school and handed out flyers,” says Homie.

“And Oscar and I have sold over one hundred tickets – and there are loads more left over,” says Avril.

I make a big black tick on my list. “Davina, what about the clothes?”

“I’ve called every fashion boutique I could think of,” Davina replies. “Some of them wouldn’t help – But I got two to say they would send us some of their most ‘out there’ samples – the models can be a sort of fashion test for them!”

“Awesome!” I exclaim. “If anyone knows how to use ahead-of-the-game fashions, it’s you, Davina.”

“They’re sending all the clothes first thing tomorrow,” she adds. “Donovan will be at school early to meet the lorry.”

“Eh?!” Donovan exclaims.

“Also, my cousin and her friend have agreed to help out,” says Davina.

“I is got some well wicked tunes for the show – I can set the system up today,” says Scoop.

“My mum has agreed to take some shots of us,” says Carrie.

“And the hall can be decorated today,” I conclude. “So we have nothing to worry about. See how easy things can be when you’re organised? Now let’s get to work!”

While we start work on the décor, Scoop sets up the music system and puts his records in the right order. We all work hard, decorating the hall, setting up the catwalk and rigging up a curtain for the models to prepare behind. There’s a little room at the back of the stage, which we’ve set up as a dressing room for Davina, and we prepare a space for all the fast clothing changes that are going to happen.

When we leave school, it’s really late, but it feels great to know we have transformed the hall into a cool fashion show venue.

Nothing can go wrong…

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s 10:00 am. Usually I would be at St Hope’s at 7:30 am, but I was called to an early morning meeting by the Head of MI9 to discuss SKUL’s latest escapade – smuggling valuable antiquities from Asia to sell in London. A mole inside SKUL has told us that the valuables are stored in a warehouse in Peckham – sixty of the Grandmaster’s henchmen were arrested and the valuables are to be returned back to their countries.

Anyway, I can’t wait for the charity fashion show. Jenny and the Year Tens have been getting everything together for the past week – an event that raises money for Avril’s charity, Orphans in Need. At last the big day is here.

I head for the assembly as I’m needed to set up the chairs for the show. I step inside and see what Jenny and the Year Tens had done the night before – it looks great! Then I look at the Year Tens… who look completely dejected.

“Er… shouldn’t we be setting up chairs for this afternoon?”

“There’s been a disaster!” Davina squeals at top volume.

“What’s wrong?”

“The lorry carrying the clothes had an accident on the way here,” says Donovan. “The driver’s OK but the clothes are ruined.”

“What?!” I exclaim. “You’re kidding.”

“We wish we were!” Davina wails. “The boutiques don’t have any more samples to spare! And on top of that, my cousin and her friend can’t come because they’ve got food poisoning!”

“And that’s not all,” says Carrie, who has just walked up beside me. “My mum’s ill – she can’t make it.”

“This is a nightmare!” Avril groans. “What else can go wrong?”

Scoop walks over to the decks and switches it on. Suddenly, there’s a loud crackle and a bright flash. The amplifier makes a strange whining sound and goes dead. A little spiral of smoke curls out of the top of it.

Scoop stares at the amplifier and we stare at Scoop.

“Well done, Scoop,” Avril says sarcastically. “Now we don’t have any music.”

“Well, you’re the one who had to say what else can go wrong,” Scoop retorts. “So it’s your fault.”

“All right, everyone – calm down,” I say, trying to keep the peace. “Look, how about we call Jenny. She should know what is happening.

“I’ve tried to call her – eight times!” says Avril. “And I have no idea where she is because she’s not in the English room.”

“Right.” I think to where Jenny might be. She’ll have to be in a place where no-one has looked. Then it hits me! “OK, you guys stay here… and try not to kill each other. I think I know where Jen is.”

I walk out the assembly hall and make my way to the library.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“There must be something you have your shop we can use for the fashion show,” I say to the boutique manager.

“I’m sorry. I’ve already told Davina and now I’m gonna tell you: we have no other samples,” she says.

“Oh, OK.” I sigh miserably after I hang up. I can’t believe this is happening! The problems started before I even left the house. First, Donovan calls me to say that clothes that the lorry was carrying are ruined because of a road accident. Next, I get a text from Davina saying that her cousin and her friend can’t make it because they’ve got food poisoning. Now, I’ve got a text from Carrie saying that her mum is ill, so she can’t make it. Could this morning be any more disastrous?

_BEEP!_

I look down at my phone.

A text from Scoop.

_Da sound system iz busted. Soz._

I feel my temper flaring up. “Ah, for fuck’s _sake!_ ” I yell, stamping my feet hard on the ground at the word sake.

“Shh, you’re in a library.” A voice behind me startles me. I whirl around to see Frank coming in the library. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

“Oh, Frank, this is a disaster!” I say, coming close to tears. “Everything is falling apart. We have no clothes, no makeup artist, no hair stylist, no photographer and now, no music! I’ve made some calls, but no-one can do it because it’s so short notice. Now everything is just one big mess! Oh, God, this is the worst day ev–”

I feel a pair of arms go around me as Frank pulls me into a hug, resting his chin on top of my head. His touch feels warm and secure.

“Hey, shh. Shh, it’s OK. Just take it easy and breathe,” he soothes, pulling me closer. I can feel his heart beating against my chest. “You’re OK. I’ve got you.”

“Oh, Frank –” I close my eyes to hold back the tears. “I didn’t want to say this but… I’m gonna have to cancel.”

“Cancel?” Frank draws back, disappointed. “Jen, you can’t cancel. You and the Year Tens worked too hard for this.”

“Er, hello? In case you have noticed, Frank, we have no equipment for this event.” I sigh. “And to think that organising a fashion show was a doddle. Please! I can’t organise for toffee.”

“Now stop that! Listen to yourself, this isn’t you. The Jenny Brownstone I know is the one who can think of a solution to any problem. Not moan and give up. Jen, do you know why the pupils look up to you?”

I give a little shrug.

“They look up to you because you’re the only teacher in this school who gives a damn about them. Most of the teachers – hell, all of the teachers – have given up on them. But not you. You give them hope. You inspire them. You’re the reason they come to school,” says Frank. “If you tell them that the show is cancelled, not only will you be letting those kids down, you’ll be letting yourself down.” He takes hold of my hands and stares deep into my eyes. “Jen, I know you’ll find a solution to this. I have faith in you. I… I believe in you.”

I look up to Frank, his eyes gleaming and I smile, feeling a bit better.

“Well, I better get back to the hall to make sure those kids haven’t killed each other.” Frank lets go of my hands and heads for the door. He turns to me before going out of the door. “Don’t give up, Jen. I know you’ve got something up your sleeve.”

And with that, Frank exits the library. I stay where I am. A little idea starts to form in my mind. A smile creeps over my face as I start to dial a number on my phone. After a few rings, the person answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kenzie, it’s Jenny,” I say.

“Oh, hi, Jen,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“Kenzie, I need a favour.”

**(Frank’s POV)**

I hope I’ve done enough. I’d hate to think what will happen if the show is cancelled. The whole school is looking forward to it.

I enter the hall where the kids are sitting around, looking bored and miserable. Avril sees me and rushes over to me.

“Did you find Jenny?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I reply. “And I’ve had a talk with her.”

“And?” the other kids come over to me and Avril.

“I’m afraid all we can do is wait,” I say.

The kids gaze at each other with concern and go back to where they were sitting and I join them as we wait with bated breath.

xxoOoxx

Ten minutes later, Jenny walks in.

“People! I’ve got an announcement to make!” she declares.

The kids and I go over to Jenny and surround ourselves around her to hear what she has to say. Please let it be good news…

“Guys, I have some news about the fashion show,” says Jenny. “The show…” We draw in a little gasp of breath. There’s a long pause. “… _will_ go on!”

The sounds of ‘yes!’ and sighs of relief fill the room.

“I made a few phone calls explaining the situation and there are some who are willing to help.” Jenny turns to Scoop. “Scoop, I’ve got a friend who’s got a friend who DJ’s at the local nightclub – he’s gonna lend us his DJing equipment.”

“Ah, wicked, Miss B!” Scoop grins.

Jenny turns to Davina and Donovan. “Guys, I’ve got a friend from uni who’s doing an internship at an independent fashion house. I’ve asked her to ask her boss if they can lend us some of their most fashion-forward collections – and she said yes!”

Davina squeals in delight and wraps her arms around Donovan.

“Also,” Jenny continues, “my sister’s lectures are cancelled for the day, so she and some of her friends can come over and do hair and makeup. Now, for the best bit – the photographer. I’ve hired two photographers. One is a friend from uni called JB, who’s cousin has his own photography business is gonna take pictures of the show and do a photo shoot of the models. The other… works for the Fulham Chronicle who also wants to do an interview!”

The hall erupts with cheers and whoops. There’s a sudden shriek – a scream – an entire operatic _chorus_.

“Awesome!”

“No _way_!”

“O – M – G!”

As the kids chatter with bright excitement in their eyes, I look over to Jenny who has a smile of triumphant glee over her face. I knew she would pull through.

“All right, guys!” Jenny claps to quieten down the room. “Now that the crisis is over, let’s put on a show that everyone will remember!”

There’s an even louder cheer than before, and we start setting up the seating arrangements for this afternoon.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I peek behind a curtain of the catwalk. The hall is packed and buzzing with students, teachers and the OIN (Orphans in Need) workers eager to see the fashion show. All the tickets have sold out! I can see Scoop on the side of the stage with Kenzie’s friend, Parker, setting up the music system.

“Jenny, there you are!” I turn to see Livi standing behind me. “Come on; let me do your hair and makeup.”

Backstage, the atmosphere is electric and buzzing, with Oscar, Avril and Homie are painting some last-minute backdrop scenes. Davina and Donovan are dashing around picking the best items from the fashion house’s collections and working out a fashion scheme. Livi’s friends are rushed off their feet doing all the models hair and makeup. And Carrie and Rose take charge of organising the models and putting out all the outfits on racks for the quick changes. Everyone looks happy enough.

I sit down in front of a long mirror, and Livi gets to work on my hair, giving me a style that looks super individual but fitted together perfectly too.

When Livi finishes, she stands back to look at her work. I stare at my reflection. It looks fantastic. It’s straightened and then turned under at the ends for a style that looks sleek and chic.

Next, it’s time for my makeup. Livi starts with a honey foundation shade that makes my skin look flawless. My eyes are outlined with black liquid eyeliner, than my eyelashes are curled and brushed with black mascara, making my eyes look bigger. Next she chooses candy floss pink gloss for my lips and matches it with a manicure and pedicure. This is what I love about Livi – she works so fast it’s amazing. I look stunning and natural.

After Livi finishes glamourizing me, I rush over to the dressing room to change.

Minutes later, I come out of the dressing room looking sassy with attitude wearing an oversize camel coloured off-shoulder sweater, dark denim skinny jeans and gold peep toe T-bar platform shoes, accessorized with a gold cuff bracelet.

“All right, people,” I say. “Let’s rock and roll!”

Oscar hands me a microphone and I make my way to the stage. The second I walk on stage, the spotlight is on me and there’s applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the St Hope’s Charity Fashion Show!” I call. There’s a loud cheer. “The money we’ve raised for this show is for the Orphans in Need charity and I would like to thank you all for your donations. Now without further ado, let’s start the show!”

I walk off the stage and the show begins. The hall scream and cheer with excitement as the show begins with a burst of gold confetti and the models step out onto the catwalk. (I rented a confetti cannon for the show but didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise!) Scoop and Parker did a great job setting up the sound system, mixing together some awesome tunes that are blasting from the speakers.

The crowd love the décor and the music, and Davina and Donovan’s fashion line look amazing. JB’s cousin and the FC (Fulham Chronicle) photographer are taking some incredibly fantastic shots of the models in their fabulous outfits.

As the show went on, I can see that everyone is mesmerized by this. This fashion show is by far the biggest, best and most glamorous event anyone in St Hope’s will remember, and I know it’ll be talked about for years to come.

At the end, after a glittering finale, where gold and silver stars rain down on the audience, the show comes to an end and there’s a storm of applause. The crowd are on their feet, stamping and shouting. I join the models on the stage and thank everybody once again. As I turn to leave the stage, I catch sight of Frank who is standing, cheering with the rest of them. He gives me a thumbs-up and I grin back at him, and I leave the stage.

xxoOoxx

I wander on the stage an hour after our spectacular fashion show. Everyone has gone home, but the students who volunteered are still here. The students who modelled are having their pictures taken by JB’s cousin and the others are being interviewed by the FC photographer/journalist in Aunt Hermione’s office. I’m supposed to be with them but I just needed to see the catwalk once again and drink it all in.

As I walk down the catwalk, the door to the hall opens and Frank walks in.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought you’d be here.”

“Hey, Frank,” I say, reaching the end of the catwalk. I sit on the edge of the catwalk with my legs dangling off of the side and Frank joins me.

“That was an amazing fashion show you and the Year Tens put on.”

“Thanks. I thought you and the audience would never stop clapping. But it was the most mind-blowing event ever put together – and in a week as well. The highlight of this whole thing was the amount we raised for Avril’s charity – it’s sensational. The workers of Orphans in Need are over the moon. Yep” – I stretch my arms above my head – “It’s been quite a week.”

“Well, the highlight for me was you saving the day at the last minute with your quick-thinking.” His hand reaches out and hesitantly strokes my cheek. “I knew you’d pull through.”

I look away, flustered.

The silence is long before I speak.

“I never really got to thank you,” I say. You know. For this morning.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Frank looks down at his fingers clasped tightly in his lap.

“Yes, I do. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would’ve happened. If anything… it was you who saved the day.” I move closer to Frank. “I’m not the only one who’s an inspiration to those kids.” I lean over and kiss him and the cheek. “See you later.”

I slide off the catwalk and head for the door. Before my hand reaches for the handle, Frank calls me.

“Jenny, wait!”

I turn to see Frank walking towards. When he stops in front of me, I notice that he’s not wearing his glasses. His eyes are beautiful… and full of lust.

His arms circle my waist, pulling me towards him. “Jenny…” Is all he can say before he leans his head down and presses his warm lips against mine.

My first kiss. Little firecrackers are exploding inside me. Nice. Very nice.

The kiss lasts for a long time.

When the kiss finished, I open my eyes and Frank looks down at me, smiling.

“Wow,” I whisper and pull him back for another kiss.

Frank draws back slightly, drawing his tongue along my bottom lip. He tugs it with his teeth and sticks his tongue so far down my throat I thought I might choke. It’s weird yet arousing.

I feel him pushing me against the wall. Hands lift me, and I wrap my arms and legs around him.

“You are so sexy…” Frank kisses and licks my neck. “I thought so the first time I saw you walk.” He sets his teeth against my skin and bites, leaving a ring to mark me.

“Oh, Frank…” I sigh, my legs tighten around him.

I don’t want this to end…

_BEEP!_

_Oh, damn!_ I speak too soon. My right arm leaves Frank’s neck and I dip my hand in my back pocket to retrieve my phone. I slide it open and I read the text from Livi.

_Jen, where r u? Da journalist iz waiting!_

“Damn you…” I mutter under my breath. I close my phone and use it to tap Frank on the shoulder. “Frank? Frank, I have to go… Uhn!” I flinch when Frank nibbles my earlobe.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice in my ear is sensuous, seductive. His lips travel to the curve of my neck where he takes turns kissing, sucking and licking it.

“B-but Frank…” I moan. “They’re… they’re waiting for me…”

“Well, I’ve been waiting for this for six months.”

“I’m sure you can wait another two days.”

“But Jen –”

“Frank, _please_!”

“OK, OK.”

Frank pulls away from my neck and I unwrap my legs from his waist, but we still have our arms around each other, and we touch – not lips, but foreheads.

“I’m sorry I had to cut it short. But I promise you… Monday morning… after my PE lesson… you and me… will carry on our make out session… in the stationery cupboard,” I say seductively. “How does that sound, _Mr London_?”

Frank responds by kissing me tenderly on the lips. “Does that answer your question, _Miss Brownstone_?” He chuckles as I swatted him playfully.

I look into Frank’s gorgeous eyes and I give him a soft peck on the lips.

“See you on Monday,” I say, slipping from his arms.

“Ditto,” says Frank.

I stroll out of the hall and hold my breath till I’m down the corridor, and then I lean my back against the wall and sigh dreamily. After six months talks, exchanged glances and playful flirting, I finally got my fairytale ending with a kiss from Frank.

I sigh once more and I head for Aunt Hermione’s office for my interview.

Life is good.


	15. Britannia High

**(Frank’s POV)**

“Oh, what a beau-ti-ful morn-in’, oh, what a beau-ti-ful day-y, I’ve got a won-der-ful feel-ing, eve-ry-thing’s go-ing my way-y,” I sing, while mopping the corridor floor, feeling excited and happy.

I’m very aware of the amount of looks and stares that I’m getting from the kids and teachers but frankly, I don’t care. I’m on cloud nine. In fact, I’m beyond cloud nine. I’m in my own little world, and it’s whirling me all the way into outer space… that is until I suddenly hear my name.

“Frank!”

I whirl and face the eyes that stare back at me. “Mr. F! Good morning,” I stammer.

“Good morning, Frank,” says Mr. Flatley, giving me his normal cheery smile. “You seem to be in a good mood this morning. I heard you singing the opening song from _Oklahoma!_.”

“Well, what can I say, Mr. F? The sun’s out, the birds are singing and I’m just happy that my life is going right.”

“Good for you, Frank. I’m glad.” Mr. Flatley strolls off down the corridor and I go back to mopping.

Yes, everything in my life is going just right. After six months of dreaming about it and fantasizing about it, I finally got my kiss with Jenny. It was even better than I’d expected – it was on the lips! I spent the whole weekend reliving that Friday evening, kissing Jenny after the charity fashion show in the assembly hall. I can still taste her; still feel her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me. Absolute bliss. Then we had to part ways, but I was promised that we’ll pick up where we left off on Monday (that’s today!) in the stationery cupboard – after her PE lesson. I sigh happily at the thought of slipping my arms around her waist once again and pulling her against me, then feeling her mouth on mine.

“Hey, you.”

I look up to find Jenny’s eyes meeting mine. She’s wearing a black tracksuit with two white stripes on the sides and a black sports bra, her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail. She’s carrying a purple sports bag that contain her other clothes.

I set the mop against the wall and I blushingly smile. “Hi.”

“Well, aren’t you forgetting something?”

At my questioning look, Jenny drops her sports bag, grabs my hand and pulls my arm around her waist. “Kiss, kiss,” she demands.

I lean towards Jenny, intending to give her a quick peck on the cheek, but just at that moment Jenny turns her head and I find her mouth instead. Her lips are warm on mine; I can taste her saliva and I can smell the body fragrance she’s using. I can hear people around me and Jenny catcalling and wolf-whistling at us, but we pay no attention. She slides her hands around the back of my neck. She parts my lips and I feel her tongue slide between them. Her tongue seems to do somersaults in my mouth. Her kiss is making me feel dizzy.

“Wowsers!” I say, when we eventually draw breath.

Jenny giggles mischievously, her eyes gleaming as they stare into mine. “I’ve missed you,” she says.

“So I gathered,” I tease. I glance around to make sure that Mrs King isn’t around.

“Aunt Hermione is in the foyer putting up the charity fashion show newspaper article on the noticeboard,” says Jenny. “We’re on pages six and seven.”

“Oh. Oh, OK,” I say, feeling relieved.

“Frank, she _will_ find out about us.”

“Yeah. And I’d hate to think how she’ll take the news once she does find out.”

“True. But to be honest with you, I really couldn’t care less. Aunt H knows that we have been pining for each other for some time, so she better get used to this. We’re a couple, whether she likes it or not.”

A couple. Music to my ears. I bend my head and kiss Jenny. It’s just a little kiss, our lips gently bumping. But we break away when the bell rings.

“Well, I better get going.” I let go of her waist and Jenny steps back to pick up her bag. “See you later, OK? Don’t forget” – She leans in towards me and whispers in my ear – “stationery cupboard.”

I swallow. “Yeah. OK.”

My heart is pounding as I watch her turn the corner of the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight, I lean against the wall, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I can’t believe how good it feels to _be_ together with Jenny. Pushing myself off the wall, I grab the mop and I continue to wipe the floor with it while humming ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’ under my breath.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Good morning, class!” I chirp as I enter the gym.

“Morning, Jen!” the class chorus.

“I’ve got something for you,” I say in a singsong voice. I drop my sports bag on a pile of blue gym mats and I take off my tracksuit jacket. I reach into the bag and pull out a newspaper, unfolding it and turning to pages six and seven. “Ta-dah!” I show them the article.

The class crowd around the article in excited chatter. Avril pushes through the crowd to the front and reads the story.

“‘Charity Fashion Show a Big Success – St Hope’s High School has celebrated the latest trends in their charity fashion show, raising money for Orphans in Need. Orphans in Need are a local charity which provides food, medicine and clothes for orphans in poor countries.

“‘Held on the 8th March, the Year Ten students along with their teacher, Jenny Brownstone, organised and co-ordinated all aspects of the event. The afternoon proved to be a brilliant success with a packed audience of students, teachers and the workers of Orphans in Need.

“‘Students modelled a range of garments from independent fashion house, Chix. The girls strutted down the catwalk in unique and glamorous dresses, tops and skirts, while the boys wore smart and sophisticated suits.

“‘Celebrating the Best of British, further donations were made through a cake sale and sponsored walks. The afternoon was accompanied by hip-hop beats provided by St Hope’s student, Timothy Hinklebottom (Scoop Doggy) and DJ of the Red Cube nightclub, Parker Sutton (Bling P).

“‘The workers of Orphans in Need have thanked Miss Brownstone and the Year Tens involved in the organisation of the event for raising money for the charity and donating the proceeds’.”

When Avril finishes reading the story, we all clap and cheer.

“Aunt Hermione has put the article up on the noticeboard in the foyer,” I say, closing the newspaper and folding it. “Or if you prefer, I can give each of you a copy of the newspaper with the article that I bought from three different newsagents for you to have as a souvenir.”

I receive a positive response.

“Listen, guys, I just wanna say congratulations for a majorly successful fashion show, despite the odd disaster,” I say. “I’ve never felt so proud of you. You were brilliant. _And_ you got first-hand experience of leadership, co-operation and organisation – as well as responsibility.”

The class nod and murmur in agreement.

“I mean, who knows? If the fashion show was a triumph, think of what prom night would be,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

Davina gives a loud squeal that makes Donovan wince.

“No way! Jenny, are you serious?” she asks.

“Providing that everyone in class does _really_ well in their mock exams as well as their school work. So, if you want to show off that new dress you purchased from Topshop…” I smile at Davina. “…or play that mix CD you put together…” I glance at Scoop. “…I suggest you start putting your heads in the books and start revising.”

The sounds of excited chattering fill the room.

“Also, there something else you should know,” I add. “Frank and I… we’re a couple!”

Davina squeals in excitement, and Carrie gives a whoop and the rest of the class cheer and congratulates me. The majority of the well-wishers ask me when Frank and I got together, but I tell them that we’ve already wasted time talking and we should start the lesson. I toss the newspaper by my bag and I begin the lesson.

xxoOoxx

“Here you go, guys,” I say, handing two copies of the Fulham Chronicle to Scoop and Homie at the end of the lesson.

“Thank, Miss B,” they say.

“And, er, congrats on you and Frank,” says Scoop. “I always knew that you two would get together.”

Scoop’s words touch me. “Aw. Thanks, Scoop,” I say.

“When Scoop and Homie leave the gym, I hand the last three copies of the Fulham Chronicle to Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

“Thanks, Jen,” they say.

“So, er…” Carrie starts, “so what’s it like kissing Frank?”

“Carrie!” Rose and Oscar exclaim in unison – but I smile.

“That’s for me to know and you to _never_ find out,” I say. “Now, go on, off to your next lesson.”

Rose, Oscar and Carrie make their way out through the gym door and I head to the changing room to take a shower. I relax under the warm water, feeling the tension seep from my muscles. I reach for my special supply of aromatherapy bath gel and lather up, soaping myself under the streaming water. But once I towel dry and stuff my damp body into underwear, my wristwatch communicator starts to beep.

“Oh, man!” I mutter under my breath. Wrapping a towel around my body, I reach into the side pockets of my bag and pull out my communicator and answer. “Hey, Zeke,” I say. “Glad that you’re feeling better.”

“I _am_ better. It’ll take more than a common cold to stop the Zekeinator,” says Zeke. “Oh, by the way, congrats on that fashion show you and the kids did – Kenzie told me about it.”

“Thanks. Despite the few black spots we encountered, we still came through in the end.”

“Also, congratulations on _finally_ getting it together with Frank.”

“Zeke!” My face is red hot.

“What? I saw you two this morning sharing a kiss – or should I say snog – in the corridor via CCTV.”

“OK,” I say, swiftly changing the subject, “so other than congratulating me on things I did in the last week, what did you really call me for?”

“This.” A picture of a modern-looking building appears on the screen. “Britannia High – a school located in Chiswick, West London that specializes in the performing arts. Since last Monday, a number of students have gone missing. They are the most progressive students in the school. Your mission is to go undercover as a student, find out who’s behind the disappearances and stop them.”

“What… you mean today?”

“Well, yeah, of course today. Unless… you have other plans, say… with your new _boyfriend_.”

Boyfriend. I feel giddy inside just hearing that word. I go into a happy little daze knowing that Frank is now my _boyfriend_. Before I can reply to Zeke, my mobile beeps. I take the phone out of my bag and slide it open, reading a text from Frank.

_I’m so so so extra sorry but I CAN’T meet up with you. Mr F has me doing a list of jobs as long as my arm and I don’t know when I’ll finish. I do hope you understand and don’t feel too mad at me._

I groan after I read the text.

“Trouble in paradise already?” says Zeke.

“No,” I say, as I close the phone. “Apparently, Frank has got his hands full, meaning that we can’t meet up. And since we can’t meet up, I’m all yours.”

“Yay! For a second there, I thought I had to get someone else for the mission, but I knew my favourite and _only_ crime-fighter would pull through in the end.”

“Oh, Zeke, you charming charmer, you.”

“I aim to please. Anyway, good luck! Oh, and before I go, I suggest activating your cloaking device – your Aunt Hermione has entered the gym and let’s just say she’s not looking like a happy bunny.”

Zeke switches off. I quickly strap the communicator onto my wrist and activate the cloaking device, becoming invisible.

“Jenny? You in here?” says Aunt Hermione, entering the changing room.

I stay silent as she comes to me. She picks up my sports bag and goes into the showers. I wait anxiously while she tinkers around in the showers. She comes out a moment later, still carrying my sports bag. Aunt Hermione places my sports bag in its original spot and shrugging her shoulders, she concedes defeat – at least for now. With a final glance around the changing room, she turns and walks out.

I heave a sigh of relief when Aunt Hermione exits the gym. It’s obvious why she wants to see me. She’s found out about me and Frank – via note-passing and gossiping students in her class. I feel a bit terrible for using the cloaking device on her, but now I can understand what Frank was saying about how she’ll take the news, especially since I had a whole weekend to tell her. And now Frank will have his head bitten off by my aunt. Oh Frank, I’m sorry. I feel so mean, but it’s only because I’ve got _my_ hands full otherwise I’d would have told her. I hope he won’t be cross with me when I get back.

I pick up my sports bag and place it under a bench in the corner of the room and whilst in invisible mode; I press the blue button on my communicator and change into my catsuit. It feels good to back in the catsuit. I leave the changing room and the gym and out into the playground. When I reach the middle of the playground, I press the green button on my communicator, activating the Rocket Go-go Boots. I launch myself in the air and I make my way to the Britannia High.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’m trying to think of an excuse to use on Jenny about why I can’t meet up with her when the elevator doors part open and Rose, Oscar and Carrie enter HQ. Before I can start to brief them, I notice that the three spies are grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s going on?” I ask slowly.

“I’ve got three syllables for you, Frank,” says Rose. “Fi-na-lly.”

I stare at her, puzzled.

“Jenny told us the good news,” says Oscar. “You and she are together.”

I blush. “Ah… yeah. Yes, it’s true. Jenny and I are officially a couple.”

“Well, it’s about time,” says Carrie. “But congratulations, nonetheless. You two make a really cute couple.”

I blush even darker. “Thanks,” I mutter shyly. “Right, well, anyway, team, take a look at this.” I turn on the middle computer screen. “This is Britannia High. An all-round performing arts and entertainment school, based in Chiswick, West London. During the last week, a number of students have disappeared. They are the school’s most talented students. Your mission is to go to the school and find out who’s behind the disappearances.”

“Cool! An undercover mission. Gadgets?”

“Just this.” I pick up a small hand held bazooka by the computers. “The Soap Bubble Prison Gun – used to trap targets in a virtually inescapable bubble.”

“Sweet.” Carrie takes the gun.

“I’ll stay here and pull up a list of the missing students and their talents,” Rose suggests.

“Right. Come on, Carrie. Let’s go,” says Oscar, turning on his heel and heading for the elevator.

Carrie follows behind and they leave HQ. As Rose settles by the computers, I take out my phone and I start to type.

“Texting to your new _girlfriend_?” says Rose.

“Hm?” I glance at Rose. “Oh, yeah. I was supposed to meet up with Jenny but I can’t because of… you know,” I say as I text. “So I’m just making up an excuse about why we can’t meet up.”

There is a little silence.

“You know she can’t find out who you are,” Rose says suddenly.

I look up at her.

“I mean who you _really_ are. She can’t find out,” she says. “If she does, you’ll get relocated. You’ll never see her again.”

There’s a long pause.

Eventually, I nod and say, “I know.” And resume back to typing. I can’t bear the thought of losing Jenny if she found out who I really am and what I really do. I care too much about her to let that happen.

Once I finish typing the text, I send the message. I pocket my phone and I join Rose at the computers.


	16. Lily Rubin: Pop Star or Pop Fraud

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I arrive at Britannia High, landing on the roof of a bus stop opposite the school. Jumping off the roof, I look around to see if anyone’s about. A white Nissan Micra drives past. I look behind me where there’s a park and children’s playground. No-one’s there other than the pigeons and crows. I go under the bus shelter and open my communicator.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say to the communicator, while at the same time, I press the blue button above the keypads to disguise myself.

As my body becomes visible, my disguise is revealed. Rolled-up black skinny jeans to show off the nude-coloured brogues, teamed with a grey oversized slouchy sweater and a pastel peppermint green shirt underneath. It’s finished off with a black fedora, a pink metallic shoulder bag and oversized speckled turtle horn-rimmed glasses that are the essence of cool. And to make sure that my disguise is foolproof; my hair is replaced with a wavy dark brown wig that rests comfortably on my shoulders.

I look around once again to make sure no-one is around. The street is empty. I step out of the bus shelter and cross the road. I push the doors open and enter Britannia High.

While I walk along the bustling corridor of Britannia High, I’m amaze at what I see. The school is designed artistically with its interior. The open plan floor space has constructed abstract, white boxes hanging on the ceiling to filter sunlight through the high skylights and the staircases are shaped sculpturally. What’s more impressive is the open and bright study environment where everyone is part of the same room – only to be separated by the split levels and glass walls of the teaching rooms. The varied pattern of windows not only creates a strong visual effect, it also generously lets the light flow into the building and gives a view of the park and houses around the school.

I’m so fascinated by the layout of the school, that I bump into a girl at the bottom of the stairs, causing her to drop her books and pens. When I recover from the collision, I kneel down and help pick up her things. When we finish, we both climb to our feet.

“Thanks,” the girl says as I hand her books to her.

“It’s the least I can do,” I say with a Geordie accent to further my disguise. “The interior design of this school is so amazing and I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s OK. New girl, right?”

I smile. “Yeah. I’m all new. The new improved me. I’m… Simone. Simone Connors.”

“Welcome to Britannia High, Simone. I’m Lola Moss,” she says. “So what performing arts classes are you studying?”

“Oh… er… all of them.”

“Drama, Music and Dance? Awesome. I’m only doing Music and Dance.” The bell rings. “Speaking of which, that’s second period starting,” Lola explains. “And since you’re new, you’ll have to go straight to your second-period class and skip going to first period. Luckily, the second-period class is Music, so I can show you the way to the class.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I study Lola out of the corner of my eye as we walk. She’s small and pretty, short blonde curly hair, with bright blue eyes. She’s wearing indigo skinny jeans, with a scoop-neck black tee and a powder-blue skinny scarf, and tan-coloured Ugg boots.

“Here we are,” says Lola, stopping outside a room labelled MUSIC ROOM. Taking my elbow, she guides me into the classroom door.

The music room looks similar to the one in _Glee_ : ten row bleachers at the back wall, a piano in the middle of the room with a drum kit against the near door. Other instruments including guitars, trumpets and saxophones are on their stands, resting against the wall, by the bleachers.

The room looks like it can hold a class of twenty, but after I enter the room, it looks half empty. There are only nine people here and that includes me and Lola.

I follow Lola to the bleachers, where we sit on the fifth row. A tall girl strolls over. She has straight, shiny auburn hair to her waist and deep violet eyes. She’s wearing an off white, lace trim top, layered with a pink knit cardigan and a dark denim jacket on top. With olive twill cargo trousers and brown buckle trim ankle boots. The look is complete with a pink check flat cap. The girl climbs up the bleachers and sits next to Lola.

“Hey, Lola,” she says. She sees me. “Oh, hello.”

“Grace Lamb, this is Simone Connors,” Lola announces. “She’s new.”

“Really? That’s the third person this morning that I’ve seen who’s new.”

“Oh? Where were the other two?” I ask.

“In my last lesson, Maths,” Grace replies. “They were wiping the floor with those questions that Miss Segal was throwing. They’re both from Liverpool. Their names are Jon Something-something and Cami Something-or-other, I wasn’t really paying attention. Oh, look, here they are now.”

I look to the door and see Jon and Cami enter the room. Jon is tall, with dark mop-top hair and light blue eyes. He’s wearing a black shirt over dark denim jeans and a grey beanie. Cami is a foot shorter than Jon. She’s dark-skinned with a mini afro and brown eyes, wearing orange skinny jeans, and a cropped yellow sweater. I can’t put my finger on it, but they look familiar. I’ve got a feeling that we’ve met before.

As they slide into the first row of the bleachers, a ruggedly handsome man steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He can’t be that old – maybe mid- to late-thirties, with dark hair and eyes and a tall, well-built frame. He’s wearing dark denim jeans and a black leather jacket over a green turtleneck.

“That’s Mr. Carson,” says Lola. “The best music teacher in Britannia High and very, _very_ cute.”

“Good morning, everyone!” says Mr. Carson, taking off his leather jacket and setting it on a table. “Hope you all had a nice weekend. I’m really looking forward to hearing what song you’ve picked from your favourite musical. So, who would like to go first?”

Everyone goes quiet. No-one wants to go first.

“All right, I’ll pick someone.” Mr. Carson rolls up his sleeves as he looks at the bleachers. After a slight pause, he sets his eyes on me. “You! Girl with the hat. I’ve not seen you before.”

“This is Simone,” Grace tells him. “She’s new.”

“Really? Well, Simone, since you’re new, how about being the first one to sing a song from your favourite musical.”

“OK,” I say, with a shrug.

I make my way to the middle of the floor, feeling confident and relaxed.

“Shall I begin?” I ask.

“First, tell me the name of the song you’ll be singing and from which musical,” says Mr. Carson.

“‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ from _Grease_ ,” I say. I’ve watched that film so many times, I practically know every line.

“OK, then, away you go.”

I take a deep breath and start: “Guess mine is not the first heart broken…”

When I finish, there’s a round of applause.

Mr. Carson looks impressed. “Wow,” he says, “you’re really good. You’ve got loads of confidence.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

I return to my seat and Mr. Carson picks the next person. Lola. Her turn. She does a passionate, emotional audition of ‘Over the Rainbow’ from _The Wizard of Oz_ that moves everyone. Grace is next. She gives a confident audition, belting out ‘Tomorrow’ from _Annie_. Jon looks slightly nervous and stammers a few times to ‘Greased Lightning’ from _Grease_ , and Cami forgets one of the lines to ‘Good Morning, Baltimore’ from _Hairspray_ , but soon it’s over.

“That was a great job everyone,” Mr. Carson says warmly. “You really captured a wonderful sense of atmosphere. Well do–”

Just then, the door opens and someone enters the classroom. It’s a girl. She looks a couple of inches shorter than Lola. She looks mousy and pale; her hair is chestnut brown and lank, drawn back into a ponytail. She’s slightly on the chubby side – her face is round, with small dark brown eyes, almost black with rimless, rectangular glasses and round puffs of cheeks. She’s wearing a dark green hooded sweater, black denim shorts, black opaque tights and dark blue Converse shoes, accessorized with a necklace with a little gold frog on it, something her mother or grandmother must have given her.

“Lily Rubin, you’re late,” says Mr. Carson. “Forty minutes late.”

“Sor-Sorry, Mr. Carson,” Lily pants. “I… er… I lost track of time.”

“Well, you’re here now. So how about stepping to the front and do your audition piece from your favourite musical.”

All eyes are on the nervous girl as she sets her bag on the first row of bleachers and stands in the centre of the room.

“What song are you going to do?” Mr. Carson asks.

“‘I Dreamed a Dream’ from _Les Misérables_ ,” Lily replies.

“Right, off you go.”

Lily tilts her chin in the air, and a light suddenly flares in her eyes. Then, in a clear, strong voice, she begins her audition piece. Her rich tones play up and down the words almost as if she was singing. She moves lyrically across the room, so that everyone watching feels swept up in the song. I feel tears prick my eyes, and from the corner of them, I can see Lola and Grace hold each other’s hand tightly as they listen, transfixed. When Lily finishes, there’s a stunned silence. The music room erupts in cheers and whoops. Lily seems to return to her old, nervous self, because she tries to slip off to her seat, but Mr. Carson will not allow it. He leaps up beside her and holds her arm.

“Well Lillie, I must admit, I never thought you had it in you,” the music teacher confesses. “And aren’t you a naughty girl, hiding a voice like that under the carpet for all these months.”

Lily says nothing. She blushes very red and nods. Then the bell clangs and everyone grabs their stuff.

I leave the music room with Lola and Grace and we saunter off to the Portakabins.

“Wow, that Lily girl sure has some voice,” I say, seating myself on the steps that lead down to the Portakabins.

“Lily was totally, earth-shatteringly awesome,” Lola says with deep respect, sitting beside me.

“I know,” says Grace, astonished, nudging up beside us. “Normally, Lily couldn’t sing to save her life.”

“Grace! Don’t be such a cow,” Lola says primly.

“What? It’s true. Last week, she’s never been able to hold a tune. And suddenly she can sing like Adele? Come on. Don’t you remember last Tuesday in Dance class? Lily couldn’t get to grips with a simple tap dance routine – she was the worst in the class, even worse than Duncan Lewis and he’s socially inept! Two days later, she’s dancing around the room like Gene Kelly in _Singin’ in the Rain_ – dancing hundred times better than Shannon Carter who, by the way, was not in the class when Lily did the routine.

And speaking of actors, you should have heard what happened in Drama class last Wednesday. Roxanne Bennie was telling me during Maths class this morning that she and the rest of the Drama class are doing a brand-new retelling of _Sleeping Beauty_ called _Thorn Rose_ and Lily decides to audition for Princess Rose – the lead role. But on that day, she either messed up the lines or forgets the words. Then, on Friday, Mr. Lee picked out the people who were going to do a certain part. He chooses Muffy O’Casey for the role of Princess Rose, but Muffy wasn’t there and Mr. Lee didn’t have time to pick out an understudy for her, so Lily volunteers to be the understudy for Muffy and you’ll never guessed what happened. She recites every line that Princess Rose says from the script – without even looking at the script! Now, she’s cast as an understudy. Explain that one.”

“Well, maybe… maybe someone offered to help Lily with the tap dance routine and she recorded the whole script on her phone and listened to it when she was working.”

“Come on, Lola. Get real. Two week ago, Lily Rubin had the zero factors – she can’t sing, dance or act. Then during the last week, several students have started disappearing – they’re the ones who could sing, dance _and_ act – and now Lily is some sort of superstar! There’s something not right about this. Something weird.” Grace turns to me. “What do you think, Simone?”

I think you’ve found me suspect number one, two and three. “I… I think Lola’s right. Maybe someone offered their services to help out Lily.”

“Told ya,” says Lola, with a grin.

“You two are crazy,” says Grace.

She and Lola go into conversation about something-or-other, while I bring out my phone and text Zeke to look up information on Lily. After I send the text, the bell goes and we go back into school to the next lesson.

**(Frank’s POV)**

“Here are go, Rose,” I say, bringing a cup of water to her and setting it next to her on the table.

“Thanks, Frank,” she says, taking it.

I slide into my chair as Rose takes a sip of the water. We’ve been working on the computers for two hours pulling up names of any student from Britannia High that have been absent for the past week. Our eyes are aching and my fingertips feel numb from the amount of typing I did. So I think we both deserve a break.

“So when did you and Jenny get together?” Rose asks after she downs her drink.

I blush, a little surprised by the question. “L-last Friday – after the fashion show,” I say. “We got talking for a bit and then she… she kissed me on the cheek – as a sort-of thank-you for me not letting her cancel the show. I thought that we couldn’t leave it there, so I called after her before she could leave the hall and we… you know.”

“Does Mrs King know?”

“No. But Jenny says that she doesn’t care if Mrs King knows. All Jenny cares about… is me and her together. And… And I care about that, too.”

“Well, I’m glad that you and Jenny are together. I mean it took six months, but you two got there in the end.”

I chuckle at Rose’s comment.

Then a voice comes on the radio. “Hello? Guys?”

Rose answers. “Hey, Oscar. How’s it going?”

“Carrie and I have found a lead behind the missing students. Her name’s Lily Rubin.”

As Rose types the name into the computer, my phone beeps. I take it out from the inside of my jacket and gulp when I see the person who sent me the text – Mrs King. I unlock the phone and read the message.

_My office – NOW!_

“Oh, bugger,” I mutter.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks.

“It’s Mrs King,” I say. “She wants me in her office – right now.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to go. Maybe I should fake an illness. Say I’ve come down with the flu –”

“Frank, you can do this. Just remember to breath and don’t let her intimate you.”

I manage a weak nod as I stand up and head to the elevator. I pause when the doors open, and I look over my shoulder to Rose, who’s given me a thumbs-up. After that, I enter and leave HQ to face the inevitable.

xxoOoxx

Oh God. This is it. My hands are sweating and I feel numb as I stare at the door to Mrs King’s office and I hold my fist over the door like I’m about to knock on it. I stay standing still with my fist hovering over the door until my entire arm goes numb. I’ve rehearsed again and again in my head the things I’m going to say. They all sound stupid. I decide I can’t say anything. I can’t face seeing Mrs King because I’m sure she’d tell me to stay away from Jenny.

But I don’t want to stay away from Jenny. I like – no, not like… love – I _love_ her. I loved her from the moment I saw her and I won’t stop. My fist suddenly starts knocking on the door all by itself.

After a moment, I hear Mrs King’s voice. “Come in.”

Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle of the door and enter.

I walk over to the front of Mrs King’s desk – where she’s marking coursework – and I stand there, trying to stop my knees from shaking.

When she finishes marking, Mrs King finally looks up at me. “Ah, Mr. London,” she says, “have a seat.”

I try to smile as I sit down opposite her at her desk, but she doesn’t smile back, which doesn’t bode well.

“Do you know I asked you here, Mr. London?” Mrs King asks.

I want to try and break the ice with a joke by saying if she needed help with coursework marking, but I know it won’t go down well. So I decide to try a mental retreat and admit to nothing.

“Uh… no?” I say.

“You’re here because I wanted to run by something with you,” says Mrs King. “This morning, during my History lesson with the Year Nines, I caught two girls passing notes to each other. I marched over to them and demanded that they should hand the note to me – which they did.” She holds up a small piece of folded paper. “This is the note in question I have in my hand. And this is what it says.” Mrs King unfolds the paper and starts to read. “‘By the way, T, I don’t know if you know, but this morning I saw the Year Ten teacher, Jenny Brownstone, snogging the face off of Frank the caretaker. I think they’re finally an item’.” Mrs King places the note on top of the papers she’s marked and faces me. “So, Mr. London, is it true? Are you and my niece an item?”

I sit on my hands and look at the carpet. “Er…”

“Yes or no, Mr. London,” says Mrs King.

I want to open my mouth and deny everything, but I know that will fail because the school’s CCTV monitors the corridors. So if I say no and Mrs King sees the footage, I’m finished. If only Jenny was here, she’d know what to do… what to say. I try and picture Jenny in the room with me. We’re sitting side by side and Mrs King is telling the both of us about what that Year Nine girl saw. And when Mrs King asks us if it’s true, I’ll be nervous. But I look over to Jenny, where she’s smiling at me – she’s letting me know that everything’s going to be alright. I smile back and taking hold of Jenny’s hand, I’d turn to Mrs King and say…

“Yes, Mrs King, it’s true. Jenny and I… are an item.”

Mrs King blinks, not quite sure what to say. Then – “You and Jenny… you’re together?”

I nod. “Yes.”

We sit in the office for an uncomfortable minute before Mrs King speaks.

“When did this happen?”

“Last Friday,” I say, “after the charity fashion show.”

“I see.” There’s a long pause. “You know, after my History lesson, I went to look for Jenny. I wanted to know from her if she and you were an item or not, Frank. And if she was, I wanted her to explain to me why she didn’t tell me. Why I had to hear it – or should I say see it, on a note – from a Year Nine girl. But since I can’t find her, I’m going to ask you, Frank: why did a Year Nine girl break the news to me, via note, about you and Jenny? And why didn’t she tell me?”

I open my mouth. The words are there, buzzing in my brain. I just have to trigger my tongue into action.

“Well, Mr. London? Would you like to tell me why my niece didn’t tell me?” says Mrs King.

Say it, Frank. SAY IT!

“Because she knew you’d react like this.”

“Excuse me?”

“The reason Jenny didn’t tell you about us is because she knew that you’d react like this and you would do something to stop us from being together.”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?”

It all comes out. “Mrs King, ever since Jenny and I developed an instant friendship since she’s been here, you have tried on numerous occasions to stop us from going further. And I think I can conclude why you do it: you think Jenny shouldn’t be with me. You think she deserves better. Well, I’ve got news for you, Mrs King; I _am_ the better person who deserves Jenny!”

Mrs King is shocked. “Mr. London –”

“I’m not finished.” I can’t stop myself. “I may be some caretaker with no decent education or a million pounds in the bank, but Jenny doesn’t care about that – she doesn’t care that I’m a loser. Since she’s been at this school, I’ve never yelled at her or done anything to hurt her, I’ve only ever shown her love and friendship, which she has done in return. Mrs King, I know you love your niece and you don’t want her to get hurt, but Jenny is old enough to make her own decisions. So if she decides she wants to be with me, you have to respect that. Otherwise you’ll end up being hated.” Oh God, what have I said? I take a deep breath after that long speech.

Mrs King is still gobsmacked and is looking more than a bit unhappy.

“I’ll see myself out,” I say, standing up. I exit Mrs King’s office. I hold my breath till I’m safely outside the broom cupboard. I scan my thumbprint on the biometric panel of the light switch and I enter the cupboard. I pull the handle of the mop and the lift takes me down to HQ.

“Frank!” says Rose when she sees me. “How did it go?”

I walk over and sit down at the computers. I cover my face with my hands. “Awful. It was truly and utterly awful. I think I may have blown my chances of ever being with Jenny.”

“I’m sure wasn’t that bad.”

I lift my face from my hands. “Rose, you weren’t there. The atmosphere was so thick; you needed a chainsaw to break it up. Let’s face it: I messed up.” I let out a sigh and decide to change the subject. “Anyway, enough about me. How’s the mission?”

“Well, before you left, you heard from Oscar that he and Carrie have found a lead as to who is behind the disappearances.”

“Lily Rubin.”

“Exactly. While you were gone, I looked up Lily on the database, and it says that she is the daughter of former musical theatre actress, Amber Rubin.” Rose types Amber’s name and a picture of a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and light brown eyes shows up on the screen. “Amber performed in a number of West End musicals such as _Cats_ , _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Les Misérables_ until 2002 when she was hit head-on by a drunk driver and lost both of her legs. She now walks with the use of prosthetic limbs and a crutch.”

“So Amber is forcing Lily into living her dream by enrolling her into a performing arts school, so when Lily graduates, she’ll be a West End star, just like her mother.”

“There’s only one problem: Lily doesn’t have the singing, dancing or acting abilities that her mum has. According to her school reports, the only subjects that Lily does well in are the ones that’ll be taught here in St Hope’s.”

“Ah. Maybe Amber knows that Lily doesn’t have any theatrical abilities and has created a machine that takes the abilities of a person and administrates them into Lily. Question is where is it?”

“It’ll be hidden somewhere in Britannia High. I’m sure Oscar and Carrie will find it.”

“Uh, guys. We’ve got a problem,” I hear Oscar say over the radio.

“Oscar, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s Carrie – she’s missing.”

“What?!” Rose and I say in unison.

“When did this happen?” Rose asks.

“After our dance class, when I called you. Carrie said that she was going to the toilet. I’ve tried her communicator and her mobile,” says Oscar. “I think Lily’s got her.”

“She’ll be after Carrie’s abilities,” I say. “Oscar, what were the class doing?”

“We were learning about acro dance – a style of dance that combines dance and acrobatics. It’s in contrast to gymnastics. And with Carrie’s gymnastics abilities, she’s a shoo-in. But where did Lily take Carrie?”

“She can’t have taken Carrie too far. Let me trace Carrie’s location through her communicator.” Rose begins typing. A picture of Carrie shows up on the screen and then her pencil communicator comes up. Rose types a few more keys and the picture of Carrie’s communicator turns into a blueprint. Rose keeps on typing and a floor plan of Britannia High shows up. She types once more and a few seconds later… “Got her!” she says, as a giant red dot begins blinking on the screen. “Carrie’s in some sort-of underground bunker that’s hidden under Britannia High.”

“And if Carrie’s there, then so are the missing students,” I say.

“The entrance to the bunker is somewhere in the theatre of the school. It’ll probably be a hidden trapdoor on the stage.”

“Thanks, Rose,” says Oscar. “I’m heading there right now.”

“Be careful, Oscar,” I say. “And stay on your toes. If Lily gets Carrie’s abilities, not only will she have Carrie’s gymnastics skills, but her martial arts skills, too.” I hang up and lean back on my chair.

“I hope he makes it on time,” says Rose.

“Mmm. You better get yourself down there – see if you can find a way of reversing the process,” I suggest. “I’ll stay here and arrange a SWAT team and a van for Lily and Amber.”

“OK.” Rose stands up, stretches and heads for the elevator. But not before she tells me, “Just so you know, Frank, you did all you could. You just have to wait and see what Mrs King decides.”

And with that, Rose leaves HQ. You just had to remind me about my disastrous meeting with Mrs King. I think back to what happened in her office not more than ten minutes ago. The look on Mrs King when I told her why Jenny didn’t tell her, how I deserved Jenny and how she’ll be hated if she didn’t respect the decisions that Jenny makes. I feel I’ve really blown it. I shake my head and sigh, and then I distract myself with a phone call to MI9 to arrange the SWAT team and van.


	17. Britannia's Forgotten Talents

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The clock’s just struck and it’s one o’clock. Lunchtime. I tell Lola and Grace that I’m going to the toilets to freshen up and I’ll meet them in the canteen. But really, I needed to find a quiet spot to call Zeke so he can tell me what there is to know about Lily. After a few minutes of looking, I come across the school’s theatre, where four students and their teacher are exiting the room. I hide behind a wide concrete beam so they don’t see me. After I hear the door shut, I glance quickly around the theatre. Empty. I open my communicator and call Zeke.

“Oh, hi, Jen,” he says. “How’s Britannia High?”

“Hard,” I reply in my normal voice. “I thought being a student was hard, but not as hard as being a Britannia High student. Did you know that the students have to take a full academic course load while participating in conservatory-style arts concentration? So, not only do the students have to work on their dancing/singing/acting, but they have to work on the national curriculum. Unbelievable! Anyway, what did you get on Lily Rubin?”

“Well, after hacking into the school’s system and reading on Lily’s reports, it seems that Miss Rubin ‘has a good brain and is a high achiever in the curriculum but lacks focus in the arts’.”

“So, Lily is the school’s star pupil when it comes to subjects like Maths, English and Science et cetera, but she sucks in performing arts?” Zeke nods. “So why is she here if she can’t sing, dance or act?”

“Because of this.” A picture of a middle-aged, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman appears on the screen. “This is Amber Rubin – Lily’s mother. Amber was a former dancer and stage actress who starred in a number of West End musicals. Then, in 2002, Amber had to have both of her legs amputated as a result of an accident in which a drunk driver rammed into her. She now uses prosthetic limbs and a crutch to allow personal mobility, but her musical theatrical career is well and truly over.”

“So, Amber wants Lily to live out her dream by enrolling her into Britannia High, so she’ll be a West End star. But Amber must know that Lily doesn’t have the performing arts skills that she has. I mean you should have heard Lily in Music this morning. She was great. No, not great – excellent. She sounded like SuBo from Britain’s Got Talent. Then, in Dance class, just before lunch, while everyone was dancing with grace to a simple acro dance routine, Lily was abysmal! While doing a twirl, her arm catches someone on the shoulder and another on the chest. Then she lands on teacher’s foot as she does a handspring, possibly crippling her. Grace is right – something strange is going on with Lily.”

“Grace?”

“One of Lily’s classmates. She was telling me and her friend Lola that two weeks ago, Lily was crap at performing arts and now she’s suddenly a sensation –”

I stop when I hear a door being pulled open.

“Jen – what’s wrong?” says Zeke.

I raise a finger to my lips. “Shhhh,” I whisper. “There’s someone else in here.”

I peek out from behind the pillar in time to see a figure step into the theatre. I gasp a little when I see who it is – Lily. She’s making her way down the centre aisle, to the stage, with someone – who’s unconscious – over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift. It’s Cami! Lily walks up on to the stage and stands in the middle of it. She stamps hard on the stage. I hear a clanking sound. Then a grinding sound. Then a groaning sound.

Slowly, Lily and the unconscious Cami disappear into the stage.

“Whoa,” I whisper in amazement. I leave my hiding place behind the pillar and make my way to the stage. When I get there, I spot a big, square hole in the middle of the stage – but the hole is closed by a platform. “A trapdoor,” I murmur.

“Jen! What’s going on?”

Shoot, I forgot that Zeke was still on the line.

“Sorry, Zeke,” I say, looking down at the screen of my communicator. “I think I may have found the secret hiding place of the missing students. They’re under the stage. I’m going in. I’ll see you soon.”

“OK, see ya. Good luck.”

After I hang up, I search for the switch that Lily used to lower herself and Cami down into the stage.

A small peg on the stage floor catches my eye.

I step on the peg and jump on the trapdoor.

I hear a clanking sound. Then a rumbling. Then a grinding.

The square section of the floor begins to lower itself.

The clanking grows louder. The square platform shakes beneath me as I slide down. Down, down – until the stage disappears, and I’m surrounded by darkness. But not for long.

“Activate torch,” I say into the communicator. A beam of light from my communicator washes over the walls as I sink lower and lower under the stage.

I expect the platform to come to a stop just beneath the stage.

But, to my surprise, the platform keeps dropping.

And it picks up speed as it slides farther and farther down.

I wonder how far down this thing goes…

“Ohh!” I cry out as the platform finally hits the bottom with a hard _thud_!

I’m thrown to the floor.

I scramble to my feet quickly.

I raise my eyes to the theatre ceiling. It’s a small, square glow in the far distance. It seems to be miles and miles above me.

I raise my communicator/torch and sweep it around slowly. I’m in the middle of a large, empty chamber. It tunnels out in two directions. The tunnel probably stretches all the way under the school. Maybe even farther. Maybe it goes under the entire block!

I keep my light down on the ground as I step into a long tunnel, to see where I’m going. I take a few steps and then stop to listen.

Silence.

I carry on walking, following the tunnel from one curve, then another.

The floor becomes soft and muddy. The air grows cooler.

I hear a soft, chittering sound in the distance. God, I hope it’s not bats.

Suddenly, the tunnel ends, and I find myself at a low doorway. I step up to the door, my communicator/torch beaming over it.

I reach out and push the door. It creaks open. I wince – hoping that Lily or her mother didn’t hear it. I peep inside and my eyes widen at what I see.

A room. And not just any room – a room that has the missing students. The ten students are kept in cages like they’re wild animals, looking worn-out and somnolent. The only pieces of furniture in the cage with them are a folding chair, a beat-up sofa with one of the cushions missing, blankets and a small, unmade bed against the wall. Empty boxes of cereal, small bowls and five large bottles of water are beside the bed. The students are all huddled together on the sofa and the floor, blankets over their shoulders.

“Put her on the chair!” a woman’s voice instructs – presumably Amber Rubin.

I deactivate the torch and activate the cloaking device. As quietly as I can be, I carefully ease myself into the room. Inside, I see two big, black chairs in the middle of the room – their backs to each other. Attached to the chairs are black open face helmets with a red snap-on visor. Lily places Cami, who’s still unconscious, in one of the chairs and straps her wrists and ankles. Lily lowers the helmet onto Cami’s head; the visor is over Cami’s closed eyes and nods to her mother that everything is secure.

“Good,” says Amber. “Now your turn.”

Lily sits on the opposite chair, her back to Cami. Lily straps her ankles and Amber straps Lily’s wrists. Just as Amber lowers the helmet onto Lily’s head, I can see a flash of misery in Lily’s eyes. She didn’t want to do this – she was roped in by her mother! After Amber fits the helmet, she walks over to a table against the far wall, where there two laptops connected to each other and to the black chairs standing on it and starts to type.

Suddenly, I heard a low, humming sound. It takes me ten seconds to realize that it’s coming from the machine. I quietly creep over to Amber and the laptops to find out what she’s doing to Cami and Lily. I look at the monitor of the laptops. They’re both show the same thing – a scan of someone’s brains. The brains of Cami and Lily! The laptop showing Cami’s brain is on the right, while Lily’s brain scan is on the left. Amber seems to be more focused on Cami’s brain than Lily’s, examining her thoughts and memories. What is she looking for?

Just then, Amber gasps softly. “There you are,” she whispers. She starts to tap with rapid movement. Then she presses ‘Enter’ on her laptop keyboard and watches with glee as bits of Cami’s mind is transferred into Lily’s brain.

I turn to Cami – her body is shaking and her hands are twitching. Then I look to Lily – she hands gripping the armrests of the chair as her body shakes and trembles.

Turning back to the laptops, I see that the last reminding pieces of Cami’s mind are transfer to Lily’s brain. When the transfer is finishes, the chairs stop humming and the bodies stop shaking. Amber uses her crutch to support herself as she gets up and goes to Lily, unstrapping her wrists. Weak as she is, Lily unstraps her ankles and starts to stand up – only for her to slump against Amber, holding herself up by putting an arm around Amber’s shoulder.

“Easy now,” says Amber. “You OK?”

“Ye… Yeah. I guess,” Lily murmurs. She draws back from her mother, her legs a little shaky.

“Well, let’s see you perform.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I don’t know! Anything!”

Amber steps back to give Lily room, then motions her to proceed with the move. Lily does a standing tuck – legs together, with knees fully bent and drawn to her chest. Then she does a full turn of her body on the point of the ball of her foot three times and she finally, finishes with a side split.

Amber claps her hands in delight, while my mouth drops open. So, that’s why Lily is so great in performing arts – the minds of best students in Britannia High are transferred into her brain!

“Excellent! With these new gymnastic abilities, you’ll be the best dancer in Britannia High,” says Amber. “Right, come on; let’s get this one in the cage.”

By ‘this one’, she means Cami. Lily goes to Cami and unstraps her wrists and ankles. Cami moans as Lily picks her up from the chair and supports her, taking her in the cage and laying her on the bed. When Lily comes out, Amber closes the gate to the cage and locks it.

“Um… Mum?” Lily says nervously.

“Yes?” says Amber, placing the key of the cage in her bag.

“Well – I –” Lily seems lost for words.

“Spit it out,” Amber says impatiently.

“What’s gonna happen to these students, now that I have their abilities?” Lily stammers. “The cage is nearly full and there’s no room for any more students.”

“Huh. Didn’t really think this through.” Amber looks at the caged students, deep in thought. Then, an evil smile spreads around her mouth as she says, “We’ll leave them to rot.”

“What?!”

My thoughts exactly.

“You heard me,” says Amber. “Now that you have the triple threat abilities you should inherited from me, we don’t need to steal any more abilities from the other students. So, we’ll leave these students to rot here under Britannia High… forever!”

“Bu-But people are already asking questions about why I’m suddenly so good,” says Lily.

“We’ll just say that you had private tutoring.”

“But what do we say when they start asking about Shannon, Muffy and the others?”

“Well, I don’t know – lie, for God’s sake! Honestly! I should’ve transferred an intellectual mind in that thick head of yours.”

Lily flinches. Amber’s words buzz in the air, sharp as stings.

“Oh Lily. I didn’t mean to say that.” Amber reaches over and gives Lily a big hug. For a second Lily looks like she might cry. “I’m such a cow for saying it. Oh come on, don’t go all moody on me. Look, how about we go for lunch, Lily Pad? My treat. Then after school, we’ll figure a way to sort this mess out. OK?”

Lily forces a smile and nods as Amber takes Lily’s arm and steers her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say. As my body becomes visible once more, the students in the cage gasp and stare at me in horror.

“Who… who are you?” a tall, black-haired girl asks, looking nervous and pale.

“It’s OK,” I say reassuringly in my Geordie accent, walking up to the girl. “I’m a friend. I’m here to save you. I’m Je… er, I mean, I’m Simone Connors. What’s your name?”

“Shannon Carter.”

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“Last Tuesday – after school – I was in the dance studio, practising a tap dance routine, when I felt a bite in my neck and I blacked out. Next thing I remember was my body shaking, like I was being electrocuted. I must have slept the day away because when I woke up, I was in this cage, watching in horror as Lily and her mum were giving Muffy the same treatment as they did to me. The same happened to all the others.” Shannon gives a big sniff as tears rolls down her cheeks. “And now that Lily has her new talents, her and her mum are gonna leave us down here to rot!”

“Now that is not gonna happen. I’m gonna get you out of here and at the same time, get Lily and Amber to reverse what they did to you, Muffy and the others.”

Just then, the door opens, and Lily and Amber walk in the room.

“How can you forget my bag, you…?” Amber gasps when she sees me. “An intruder!” She turns to Lily. “I thought I told you to make sure that no-one was in the theatre, you stupid girl!” she hisses.

“But I did, Mum!” says Lily.

“Alright, Amber, let’s make a deal,” I say. “How about you release these students, reverse what you did to them and I’m sure MI9 will give you and Lily community service… or at least one year in prison.”

“Never!” she says. “My Lillian was meant to have my talents. She was meant to have my award-winning singing, dancing and acting skills. Instead, she inherits her father’s writing talents.”

“But if Lily wants to be a writer, then you should let her be that. Not force her into something she doesn’t want to do – like enrolling her to Britannia High or having her kidnap the students so you can steal their talents. Before you lowered the helmet onto Lily, I saw the flash of misery that she had in her eyes.”

“That’s enough! My little Lillian is going to be the star of Britannia High with her new talents as well as a brilliant West End musical actress. And there’s nothing you can do to stop that.”

“I had a feeling you were gonna say that.” I get into a martial arts stance.

Amber smiles smugly. “Are you that ignorant enough to beat up a disabled woman or are you that stupid enough not to notice that there’s one of you and two of me? Either way, my Lily Pad will take you down.”

“Huh?!” says Lily, looking surprised.

“Yes. While examining that Cami girl’s brain, I noticed that she has martial arts skills as well as gymnastics skills – so I added that ability to your mind. So how about showing our troublemaker your new kung fu abilities.”

“But… but, but Mum…!”

“Oh, don’t argue with me, child, just do it!”

I can see tears welling up in behind Lily’s glasses as she gets into a martial arts stance. Amber steps aside, so she doesn’t get in the way.

“I’m sorry,” Lily mouths, a tear rolling down her cheek.

She tries to do a straight punch to my face, but I use my inside forearm to block the inside forearm of Lily’s, pushing the punch outward, leaving us facing each other.

“Lily, you don’t have to do this,” I say, pushing her back.

“Yes, I do. I need to please my mum,” she says, trying to do another straight punch to my face, but this time, I use my outside forearm to block the outside forearm of Lily’s, pushing the punch outward, leaving me slightly to the side of the strike causing it to miss.

I push her back again. “But why? I’ve seen how she treats you.” I raise my hands to block Lily’s roundhouse kick.

“I know my mum can be rough around the edges, but she’s like that because I’m hopeless.”

Lily tries to throw a punch to my chest, but I do a block and palm strike simultaneously.

“But… but you’re not hopeless,” I say. “Amber said that you inherited your dad’s writing talents, so you must be brilliant at writing – stories, songs, poems. You could maybe write for a musical instead of acting in one – be the next Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

“But Mum says that writing doesn’t make you a star – acting, singing and dancing does!”

“Well, you mum is wrong. J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer are both writers. Their books have sold millions of copies worldwide _and_ they’ve been turned into movies. They didn’t need Fame-esque talents to get them where they are now. Fame and fortune doesn’t have to be about getting your name up in lights – it’s about hard work, determination and basically enjoying what you love!”

As I say it, Lily performs a low crescent kick on my ribs. I use this opportunity to grab her right leg (the leg she used to kick me) and use my left leg to kick the back of her left leg, causing her to fall flat on her back.

Amber gasps. “No!” she cries.

Lily sits up, groaning in pain.

“Here.” I reach my hand out.

Lily looks up at me. Then she smiles and takes my hand, and I haul her upright. As Lily dusts herself off, Amber marches up to Lily. She’s incandescent with fury, her dark eyes sparking up fire, her halo of brown hair almost standing on end.

“You clumsy great oaf!” she says, launching her attack. “How did you manage to get defeated by this… this… _girl_?!” Very ultra-crushing… not! “The reason why I took that Cami girl’s karate abilities and gave them to you is because if anyone questions your new-found talents and threatens to tell the head teacher, you can give them a smack-down! Instead, you had your arse handed to you on a plate by this _troublemaker_ …” Amber glares at me. “…who turned your new skills against you? I mean really, can’t you do anything right, you lazy, got-for-nothing…?”

“Oh Mum, will you _please_ shut the fuck up?!” Lily snaps.

Amber looks shocked. “Excuse me?”

“Ever since you lost your legs, you went from a caring and loving mum to a bitter and mean old woman, hell-bent on making me a West End star, when you know full well that I completely and utterly suck at singing, dancing and acting. I tried to tell you a million times but you refuse to listen. The only reason why I came to Britannia High is because I thought that maybe – _maybe_ – a tiny part of me might have the famous Laurence Olivier-award-winning talents that you have. But when my reports about me lacking the arts came in, you decided to concoct this insane plan of stealing the talents from the students of Britannia High by bizarrely purchasing a mind uploading machine that you got from eBay that some crazy organization called SKUL were selling and tranquilizer darts to knock the students out. Simone is right – fame and fortune is not about having my name up in lights. It’s about being creative in what you love – whether it’s singing, acting, dancing or what I inherited from Dad – writing. But it’s obvious that you care more about fame than you do about me and what I want. Mum, I’m sorry that I’m saying this, but you… are a snob.”

Amber’s mouth falls open. I don’t think anyone, not even Lily, has ever talked back to her before.

“Why, you ungrateful, selfish little cow,” she says. “I’ll teach you to talk back at me…”

“You’ll have to get past me,” I say, stepping in front of Lily.

Amber shrugs. “Very well.”

She’s about to grab me, when suddenly, a light blue bubble catches Amber and traps her inside. I stare at Amber trapped in the sphere, unable to move, with my mouth wide open and my eyes bulging as though I’ve seen a ghost.

Lily gives me a nudge.

“Look!” she says, pointing to the door.

I glance at Lily’s direction. It’s Jon. He’s standing in the doorway, holding some sort-of hand held bazooka. There’s smoke coming out of the barrel.

“Are you OK?” he asks, lowering the gun.

I nod. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

“How did you know we were down here?” Lily asks.

Jon steps from the doorway, entering the room, pulling out his mobile phone from the back of his jeans.

“GPS app,” he replies. “When Cami didn’t come back from the toilets, I used my phone to track her. I followed the signal to the theatre and heard the trapdoor moving. I hopped on the platform and came down here and followed the signal to here.”

“And the bazooka?” I ask.

Jon blinks. After a slight pause he says, “My uncle got me this from Japan.”

“Right,” I say slowly. “Look, thanks for saving us. We better call the police and tell them what’s happening…”

“This is MI9!” says a male voice.

Five men in heavy body armour burst into the room, their guns pointing at me, Lily, Jon, the students in the cage and the bubble that holds Amber. The MI9 SWAT team!

A second later, a girl enters the room. She looks an inch shorter than Jon, with tan-coloured skin, long dark hair and all dressed in black. Her face is covered with a balaclava, exposing only her dark brown eyes.

“Lower your guns,” the girl orders.

The SWAT team do what she says.

The girl stares at the bubble. “I take it the woman in this bubble is the one responsible for this?”

“Yes,” says Lily. “My mum. Amber Rubin. I’m her daughter, Lily. I’m also responsible.”

“Right. You two, take Amber away.”

The two SWAT officers who had their guns pointed at me and Jon roll the bubble with Amber in it out of the room – the girl and the other three officers move out of the way.

The girl walks up to the cage.

“Don’t worry, guys, once we’ve freed you, I’ll reverse what Amber and Lily has done to you,” she says. She turns to Lily. “Where’s the key?”

“It’s in my mum’s bag,” says Lily. “I’ll get it.”

Lily gets Amber’s bag from under the table. She retrieves the key and opens the cage, releasing the students. Next, the mysterious MI9 girl gets to work on reversing the mind uploading effects, with Lily giving the girl her full co-operation. Fifteen minutes goes by and when the last person – that’s Cami – gets her skills back, we exit the room. The SWAT officers stay behind to dismantle the mind uploading chairs and have them destroyed.

We walk down the curving tunnel, with only the MI9 girl’s torch guiding us. She raises the light as we see the trapdoor platform come into view. Once there, the MI9 girl guides the first five students onto the platform. She flips a switch on the wall and a loud clanking sound makes me nearly jump out of my skin as the platform rises above our heads, climbing back up to the stage. A few minutes later, the platform comes back down again and the girl sends the next five students onto the platform and out of the tunnel. Finally, it’s our turn. Me, Jon, Cami, Lily and the MI9 girl board onto the platform and with a flick of a switch, we start to move.

Up, up. Sliding slowly but steadily.

The square of light above our heads grows larger and brighter as we rise back up to the theatre.

As soon as the platform stops, we step off it, greeted with ten other MI9 agents and SWAT officers who guide us off the stage and out of the theatre, except for Lily. Before I leave the theatre, I watch as an MI9 agent places handcuffs on Lily’s wrists. She glances at me and gives me a faint smile. I smile back, but it’s strained and I leave the theatre and the school. But not before I’m greeted at the foyer by Lola and Grace.

“Simone, there you are!” says Lola. “Where were you? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. You said that you needed to freshen up in the toilets and that was nearly an hour ago!”

“We went to check if you were in the theatre, but we got stopped by these Men in Black-esque people, saying that it was off-limits. Five minutes later, we see them rolling out a woman in a bubble. What happened?”

I didn’t want to be long and boring as I am exhausted, so I decide to cut a long story short.

“Well, let’s just say that the mystery of Lily’s new talents and the missing students has been solved,” I say.

“I knew it,” Grace says triumphantly, snapping her fingers. “I said something was going on. Something right off the wall. She had something to do with those disappearances, didn’t she?”

I nod. “Unfortunately, yes. But it was her mum, Amber, who came up with the idea.”

Just then, two MI9 agents take Lily out of the school and into a black car.

“Poor Lily. I wonder what’s going to happen to her,” says Lola, watching the black car drive away.

“I’m sure they’ll go easy on her,” I say.

“Hm. Hey,” says Grace. “Because of what has happened, the head teacher has given everyone the rest of the day off school. How about we go into town and do a bit of window shopping?”

“OK,” says Lola, immediately perking up.

“Actually –” I glance down at my watch. It reads 2:05 P.M. I have to go back to St Hope’s to give my IT lesson – “I’m gonna go home. I’m completely wiped out with the day I had.”

“OK. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, about that. I don’t think I’m gonna return to Britannia High tomorrow… or ever.”

“What, why?” Grace groans.

“After the day I’ve had, I feel that a change in career is needed,” I lie smoothly.

“Ohh. I’m gonna miss you.” Lola reaches out and hugs me tightly. Grace joins in as well.

We pull apart, smiling.

“Be sure you’ll come back and visit,” says Grace.

“I promise I will,” I say.

We say our goodbyes and I leave the school and walk down the road. I round the corner and navigate myself to the back of Britannia High, where there’s a car park. It’s deserted – there’s no-one around. I open my communicator and end my Geordie disguise by changing back into my catsuit, the dark brown wig that I had on goes back to my raven black locks. I activate my cloaking device and become invisible so that no-one sees me when I leave Britannia High and when I land back at St Hope’s. Finally, I activate my Rocket Go-go Boots and launch myself into the air, leaving Britannia High behind me and making my way back to St Hope’s.


	18. Acceptance

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I arrive at St Hope’s eight minutes later, landing at the gates. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I run dart across the playground and into the school, heading for the showers.

Once there, I deactivate my cloaking device and change back into what I originally had on: a towel. I hop in one of the stalls of the showers and have a five-minute wash. After frantically drying myself and shoving my underwear on, I spray on some strawberry body fragrance and get dressed in a yellow sleeveless tunic dress. Teamed with a black cropped bolero with three-quarter length sleeveless, black opaque tights and black platform shoe boots. Clutching my sports bag, I rush off wiggle-waggle in my high heels to the computer room. Past the toilets, round the corner and extra sharpish past Aunt Hermione’s office…

“Jenny?”

Or so I thought.

I stop where I am. I sheepishly turn around to face Aunt Hermione. She has her head around the door.

“Would you come in here, Jenny?” she says.

When she disappears behind the door, I hang my head and saunter into the office. Aunt Hermione is sitting at her desk, her hands resting on top of each other and the table. I walk over to her desk and sit down opposite her, dropping my sports bag beside me.

“So…” says Aunt Hermione.

“So…” I echo.

“I take it you know why I called you in here.”

I give a little nod.

“There’s a rumour going around the school that you and Mr. London were seen together… kissing. Is it true?”

I nod again. “Yes, it is true.”

“And is it true that you and Mr. London are a couple?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding once more.

There’s a pause.

“You know, Jenny, I went looking for you this morning after finding out from two Year Nine girls who were swapping notes in my History lesson about you and Mr. London,” says Aunt Hermione. “But since I couldn’t find you, I called in Mr. London and he had some… very interesting things to say to me.”

“Oh?” I say. “What, er, what did Frank say?”

“He was telling me the only reason why you didn’t tell me is because you thought that I would react in a certain way and that I would try and break the two of you up. Then he goes on and says that the reason I don’t like the two of you together is because of who he is: a caretaker – one who says he does deserve you. Then Mr. London goes on saying that even though he’s just a caretaker, you don’t seem to care – you don’t mind that he has no proper education or a decent income. Finally, he tells me that if I don’t respect the decisions you make… there’s a chance that I might… end up being… hated.”

Wow. I can’t believe Frank said all that. He defended our relationship – to Aunt Hermione of all people. I think I’m in love.

“You know, I have a good mind to have Mr. London fired for the way he spoke to me…”says Aunt Hermione. I swallow. “But then again, Mr. London is one of the very few people who have spoken to me in such a way. I haven’t been this bowled over since the day I met your Uncle Richard. Jen, do you really like Frank?”

“Oh yes, Aunt Hermione! So very much,” I say. “Frank is sweet, caring and funny, and I know he’ll never do anything to hurt me or upset me – he’s too much of a nice guy for that.” I look at her hopefully. “So? What do you say? Can I be with Frank?”

Aunt Hermione sighs. “If he really means so much to you, Jen,” she says, “then yes, you can be with Frank. I… accept your relationship with him.”

I hop off my chair and go over and give her a huge hug. “Oh _top_ , Aunt H. Thanks, thanks so much.”

She smiles, then says with a bit of seriousness in her voice, “But… if I find out that Frank _has_ done something to hurt you or upset you, I will come down on him like a ton of bricks. Understand?”

“Totally.” I throw my arms around her again and give her a big kiss. “Thanks again, Aunt H. You’re a darling,” I say. I catch sight of my watch – it reads 2:23 P.M. “Well, I better get going – I’m already late for my IT lesson.”

“No, you’re not – your class has been cancelled,” Aunt Hermione says before I can reach for my sports bag.

“Cancelled? Why?”

“Apparently, some computer virus has affected _all_ of the computers in the school. I would ask Rose to see if she could fix it, but she’s gone to her dentist’s appointment.”

My phone rings. I take it out from the side pocket of my sports bag and see Zeke’s name flashing on the screen.

“I, er… I have to take this, Aunt H,” I say, and I leave the office. “Zeke?” I say, answering the phone.

“I’d figured that your mission to Britannia High would take up most of your school teaching day and you’d missed whatever plans you had with Frank, so I decided to… taint the school’s computer system with a twenty-four hour virus as I know that IT is your last lesson,” he says.

“Zeke! That’s… very sweet of you. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now go – I know you’re desperate to get jiggy with your new boyfriend.”

“Shut _up_ , Zeke,” I say – but fondly.

He’s such a good friend. After we say our goodbyes and I hang up, I squeal in delight and bounce up the corridor to find Frank and tell him the good news.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’m in the foyer, watering the plants, when my phone rings. Placing the watering can on a nearby table, I take out my mobile from my pocket and answer the call from Rose.

“Hi, Rose,” I say.

“Hey, Frank,” she says. “I just wanna let you know that we’ve apprehended Lily and Amber and I’ve reverse the effects that they’ve done to the students – including Carrie.”

“That’s great, Rose, well done. How is Carrie?”

“She’s OK, but because of the sedative that Lily used to knock out Carrie, she’s gonna be in hospital for a couple of days.”

“OK.”

“There’s something else you should know. Shannon Carter, one of the captured students, told me that there was a female student who not only appeared out of thin air, but she also fought against Lily – who had Carrie’s talents. Shannon said that the student’s name is Simone Connors. I ran her name into Britannia High’s database and nothing came up – there’s no such person who attends the school.”

“This could only mean one thing: the Cat was there – in disguise.”

“Yeah. And we let her get away.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Rose. You didn’t know who she was. Anyway, I’ll see you and Oscar tomorrow.”

“OK. See you later.”

Hanging up, I go back to watering the plants. I look at my watch and it says two-thirty. Jenny will be in the computer room, teaching IT. I hope she’s not upset with me for cancelling on her. As much as I wanted to spend the day kissing and holding her, my job has to come first. I inhale deeply to let out a huge sigh… only for strawberry fragrance to fill my nostrils. Only one person can smell so good. Looking up, I come face-to-face with Jenny, who’s standing at the foyer doorway.

And she looks gorgeous.

“Hi,” she says, walking towards me.

“Jenny – hi,” I say. “What are doing here? Don’t you have a class to teach?”

“It got cancelled. A virus has infected all the computers in the school and Rose isn’t here to fix it.”

“Ah.”

We stand in silence.

“I, er… I just seen Aunt Hermione,” says Jenny. “She – She told me what you told her at lunchtime.”

“Oh God, I’ve blown it, haven’t I?” I say with a groan as I put the watering can down and put my hand on my forehead. “I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. But I only did it because I care about you…”

“Frank, Frank – it’s OK. She accepts it.”

I stare at Jenny. “What?”

“Aunt Hermione – she accepts are relationship.”

I blink. “Really? Are you serious?”

Jenny nods with a smile.

Smiling back, I pull her close – our arms around each other, feeling warm and secure, and very happy. We kiss – long and hard.

“I can’t believe it,” I say. “Mrs King – she – what? – I can’t believe it.”

“She told me that no-one has ever spoken to her like that since the day she met my Uncle Richie,” says Jenny. “You’re one of the very few people who have spoken to Aunt Hermione like that.”

“It’s nice to know that I’ve made an impression… I think.”

Jenny giggles. “You know… I should be mad at you for cancelling our little one-on-one session in the stationery cupboard. B-u-u-t, since you stood up to Aunt Hermione and defended our relationship, I’ll forgive you. And at the same time” – she purrs seductively in my ear – “reward you.”

I gulp as she plants lazy kisses along the side of my neck.

“Re-really – oh God.” I shudder as Jenny gently nibbles my ear – something I did to her last week. “H-how?”

Jenny pulls away and takes my hand. “Let’s go to the stationery cupboard and find out, shall we?” she says with a wink.

I don’t say anything, I just nod. Then Jenny leads me to the stationery cupboard, where we pick up where we left on from Friday.

Oh, Jenny…


	19. A Kind of Magic

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Frank and I have been together for two months now and things are almost too good to be true. We both enjoy the same things and we rarely argue. For months I’ve dreamt of wanting to be with him and now that I can, I feel so much happier. The kissing has been the major in our relationship. Frank and I have explored the classrooms, the library, and even Aunt Hermione’s office – using Mr. Flatley’s desk.

Aside from the kissing, we also go out on dates – to a restaurant or a bar, the cinema or just walking around holding hands. But as my duty as the Cat – which I haven’t told Frank about – there are times where I have to cancel.

Like tonight. We were supposed to go and see _The Great Gatsby_ , but I had to cancel and tell Frank that my family were visiting me, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie when in actuality; I’m at the National Gallery for an unveiling of three, French 19th-century paintings. The reason for this is because lately, museums, galleries and jewellers across London have been reporting losses of priceless artefacts, paintings and gems. The only lead to these thefts is... a magician. Unbelievable as it is, it’s true. Zeke showed me CCTV footage of the Magician at a jewellers in Knightsbridge – on the day I was gonna go to the movies with Frank – clearing the store by covering the glass display case with his cape and when he pulls it away, the case is empty! I couldn’t believe what I just saw – the mysterious magician cleared out the store without opening or breaking the glass case. Incredible! But not as incredible as when Zeke told me that my mission was to stop this guy.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” I exclaimed, earning me some shushes from some students (I was in the library). After a sheepish, apologetic smile, I asked in a hushed whisper, “More importantly, how will I know when and where this guy will strike next?”

“The National Gallery are unveiling three paintings from 19th-century France after a ninety-year-old art collector named Penelope Brewster from Oxford left the paintings to the Gallery in her will. The value of the paintings are said to be worth a very cool £100 million,” said Zeke. “And that’s enough to grab the attention of art lovers and magician thieves. The event starts tonight at 7:00 P.M. So… are you up for the challenge?”

So here I am. At the National Gallery, snacking on finger foods and sipping on orange juice out of a champagne glass. In a disguise that consists of a turquoise dress with a wrap over front and a flared skirt that falls at the knees, tan t-strap shoes and a long, dark brown tousled bob wig. I’ve been spending the last half an hour checking on anyone acting or looking suspicious, but so far, nothing. To think that right now, I could be cuddling up to Frank, watching Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire on the big screen, but instead, I’m here at the Gallery, attempting – big emphasis – on stopping a magician thief from stealing an art collector’s last wish.

I’m about to take another sip of my orange juice, when the sound a clinking glass catches my attention. I turn to see a man next to a large grey curtain using a fork to clink his glass to grab the attention of everyone in the room. The man is short, rotund and nearly elderly, with grey hair (though the top of his head is bald), dark brown eyes, and thick, black eyebrows. In terms of clothing, the man is wearing a black suit with a dark red waistcoat and matching bowtie, and half-moon spectacles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Nicholas Penny, I’m the director of the National Gallery and I would like to thank you for coming to this event,” says Mr. Penny. “Before I reveal these beautiful paintings, I would like to briefly talk about the artist who painted them. The artworks – known as the Essence of Nature Collection – were painted in 1845 by Anne De Legere. Born in 1789 in Gascony, France and died in 1877 in Paris, Miss De Legere has combined the elements of nature with fantasy to give us Dancing Fire, Whispering Wind and Water Rhapsody, the names of the paintings in the Collection. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, I give you the Essence of Nature.”

Mr. Penny takes hold of a gold cord next to the curtains and tugs on it, making the curtains open and reveal three large oil canvases – the Essence of Nature Collection. Everyone in the room gives a warm applause to the artworks and goes over to them to get a closer look. I hang back, but admire them from afar. The colour and details of these paintings are simply exceptional and inspiring. Each of the paintings depicts three different women representing the three elements: fire, wind and water.

The woman in the first painting, Dancing Fire, looks radiant in a striking gown inspired by the beauty and intensity of fire. She can light up a room in her fantasy costume depicting the element of fire. The shapes of the flame stand out against the striking gown of red and orange. Additional accents include a red beaded necklace with a single red faceted drop and matching red bead earrings. With her long red hair and scarlet gown, the woman flairs and swirls in the smoking air until there is no longer a distinction between herself and the magnificent fire of life.

The woman in the next painting, Whispering Wind, is a whirlwind of beauty, who gracefully rides on the wind, has a very magical aura about her. Fashioned in a fantasy garment reminiscent of a blustery breeze, the woman’s skirt features a liquid palette of sky blue and lilac hues swirling about. Her pleated bodice is painted with matching fluid tones and features beads and pearls. Attached to the dress is a beaded chiffon sash that flows to one side as though it’s swaying in a gentle breeze. The woman’s long platinum blonde hair – tastefully tinted with tiny strands of lilac and blue – gracefully gusts to one side, while she holds a white dove in one hand, implying that she is close indeed to those majestic inhabitants of the sky. She is the embodiment of ethereal grace, nature and freedom.

In the final painting, Water Rhapsody, the woman is a fantasy vision emerging from the water in her dark blue sheath dress enhanced by a striking ‘wave’ train of pleated iridescence with pearl detail. Her intricate scalloped bead headpiece features clear-beaded tendrils replicating the delicate sea spray. Her ensemble is complete with white fingerless opera-length gloves and a wide blue bead choker. These paintings are truly a work of art.

Just as I take a sip of my orange juice the lights go out. Everyone in the room gasps, but the lights are back on within ten seconds.

“It seems that we experienced a bit of a blackout there,” says Mr. Penny. “Luckily, it was only a brief one and I’m sure it won’t happen aga–”

The lights go off again but this time longer than before. The Magician, no doubt. How is he doing it? As the lights come on again, there’s a scream – Water Rhapsody of the Essence of Nature Collection is not on the wall.

“Water Rhapsody! It’s missing!” Mr. Penny cries.

Murmurs of concern fill the room. Once again the lights go off, but this time they’re out for minutes instead of seconds. Everyone in the room is all starting to freak out. During the darkness and panic, I carefully my glass down on the table I was standing next to and start to slowly make my way for the exit. As the lights flicker on again, the room comes into focus again. I turn to the wall where the Collection are hanging… only to find Dancing Fire and Whispering Wind gone.

“Someone, call the police!” says Mr. Penny. “The National Gallery has been robbed!”

Suddenly, the lights start to twinkle on and then off again and again, causing everyone in the room to run for the exit. As the last person leaves the room, I feel a vibration. I hitch up my skirt that reveals my phone, strapped discreetly to my thigh. Taking the phone off the strap, I unlock it and read the text from Zeke.

_Magician heading for the back exit leading to Orange Street – Z_

Placing the phone back on the strap, I head for the back exit of the Gallery. Upon arriving at the exit, I catch a glimpse of a cape disappearing out of the door. I use my watch communicator to change into the Cat and chase after the thief. I see him in my sights as he heads towards Leicester Square. I go to one of the cylinders of my utility belt and pull out a small boomerang. Pushing a small button on the aerofoil wing, the boomerang becomes big. As the Magician enters the small park of Leicester Square, I throw the boomerang. It hits the Magician at the back of the head, causing him to fall to the ground. The boomerang circles back to me and I catch it. Pushing the button on the aerofoil, the boomerang becomes small again and I place it back in the cylinder. There’s quite a crowd forming around the unconscious magician as I enter the park, but soon their eyes are on me and everyone pulls out their phones and cameras and take pictures of me.

“Look, Mummy, it’s the Cat!”

“Man, she looks so hot in real life.”

“I can’t believe the Cat is here.”

As much as I appreciate the attention and compliments, I still have to focus on what I’m meant to do.

“OK, everyone, I’m gonna need you to stand back,” I tell the crowd. “The man on the ground is a criminal and could be armed.”

The crowd do what I say. I approach the unconscious magician and kneel by his side. I turn his body so he’s lying on his back. The Magician has on a black tuxedo with a white shirt, white tie, white gloves, and a Guy Fawkes mask. He also has a long, black cape and a black top hat.

“All right, buster. Let’s see who you really are,” I say, pulling the mask away… only to find a mannequin’s face staring at me. “What the…?” I say, astonished, dropping the mask. The crowd around me are just as baffled as I am. “Where the hell is the magician?”

As I say it there’s a sudden gasp and murmur, and someone yelling “Look!” I turn and stare. It _can’t_ be. It _is_.

It’s… the Magician. Standing in front of the Odeon West End cinema – in the same outfit and mask that I found on the mannequin. The crowd around me applaud the Magician as I stare dumbfounded at him. How the _hell_ did he do that? The Magician gives the crowd a very formal bow from the waist, and then hurries off to the direction of his left, his cape flowing behind him.

I run out of the park and follow the path that the Magician took, only to stop in my tracks and see him climb into a black van. The door slides shut and speeds off, leaving dense tyre tracks on the road.

“Arrrgh!” I growl, my hands clenching in fists of rage. I can’t believe that bastard got away.

The sounds of sirens grab my attention. I use my communicator to activate my Rocket Go-go Boots. I launch myself into the air, and make my way home.

xxoOoxx

The next morning I walk into St Hope’s a little later than usual feeling uneasy and very tired. I couldn’t sleep last night and that stupid bastard of a magician is to blame. Not only did he get away with those paintings, but he managed to humiliate me in front of a crowd thinking that I caught him when really I caught a blooming mannequin! Now I know how MI9 feel when I humiliate and annoy them. I’ve never felt this embarrassed in my life. There’s pictures of me and my dumbfound face all over the papers and probably video clips of me on YouTube. I could ask Zeke to hack into the website and take the videos down, but the person will just post it on the website again –

“Hey, Jen, wait up!”

I spin around, startled, as Frank comes running up to me.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve been calling after you, but you looked like you were a million miles away.” Frank stops to catch his breath.

“Oh… sorry,” I stammer. “I’m kind of in a fog today, I guess.”

“I’ll say. I didn’t expect to see you come in at –” Frank glances at his watch – “Ten past twelve. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I guess. I… uh… didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh. Do you want me to set you up a room so you can have a couple of hours to yourself?”

I smile. “That’s very sweet of you, Frank, thank you. Maybe later, at lunchtime.”

“OK.” He smiles.

He looks so sweet, so concerned, I leap up and kiss him. After a few seconds, I pull away.

“Wow. What was that for?” he asks.

“For being adorable,” I say. “And at the same time apologising for cancelling last night –”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologise for anything. Especially if it’s involves family – they come first. We’ll just see _The Great Gatsby_ another time, OK?”

“You bet.”

“Good.”

The bell rings. The students pour out of the classrooms and go off to their next lesson.

“I better get going,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”

Frank gives me a quick peck on the cheek then turns to leave. “Make sure you get some sleep,” he says as he leaves.

“I will,” I add. I turn and head off to the school gym.

**(Frank’s POV)**

“I take it everyone has read the papers today,” I say to Rose, Carrie and Oscar as they enter HQ at lunchtime.

“And how!” says Carrie. “Did you see The Sun’s headline for this story: ‘CAT-TRICK – Magician tricks the Cat into thinking she caught him’.”

“Videos of the Cat with the mannequin magician are all over the Internet, as well,” says Oscar.

“Aside from humiliating the Cat,” I say, “the Magician also stole three paintings from the National Gallery last night. Have a look at this.”

I turn on the middle screen to show the team CCTV footage of last night’s events. After the unveiling of the paintings, the lights go off, only to flicker back on seconds later. Then the lights go off again. After a few minutes, the lights come on again – with one of the paintings missing from the wall.

“Whoa,” the team say in unison.

“Hold on, there’s more,” I say.

The footage shows the lights going out again. Minutes later, the lights come back on, but now the other two paintings are gone. Seconds later, the lights start to flicker on and off, causing everyone in the room to run out.

“The Gallery hasn’t been the Magician’s only target,” I say, after pausing the video. “Over the last few weeks, other galleries, museums and jewellers all over London have been reporting losses of priceless artefacts, paintings and gems.”

“Does the Magician leave any clues behind? Or calling cards?” says Rose.

I shake my head. “He leaves nothing behind.”

“What about that mask he wears?” Carrie asks. “We can find out who brought the mask within the last three months.”

“That’s not gonna work,” says Rose. “Ever since the film _V for Vendetta_ came out back in 2006, the Guy Fawkes mask has become widespread nationally and internationally among groups protesting against politicians, banks and financial institutions. It’ll be impossible to find out who brought the mask.”

“So how are we gonna find out who this magician guy is?” says Oscar. “On top that, we don’t even know when he’ll show up again.”

“On the contrary, Oscar,” I say, looking at one of the papers. “I think I may have an idea. According to The Guardian, the British Museum is to hold a gala for an unveiling of a gold chalice that once belonged to King Athelstan tomorrow night. The chalice is said to be worth £18 million.”

“That’ll get the Magician’s attention,” says Carrie.

“Mmm. I’m gonna see if I could pull a few strings and see if we can get some invites to the gala. You and Oscar will pose as the invitees, while Rose and I will monitor the event from the Museum’s control room.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait. I gonna need to find something to wear to the party.” Carrie turns to Rose. “Rose, you and I are going dress shopping after school – no ands, ifs or buts.”

“Great,” says Rose, rolling her eyes.

Carrie giggles and links her arm in Rose’s and leaves HQ, with Oscar following behind. As for me, I bring out my phone and make a call to the British Museum.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Hometime! Off you go guys. See you on Monday,” I say, as the bell goes.

Everyone shoots up and heads towards the door. After the last person exits the art room, I heaved a weary sigh and gather up my stuff. Just then, my phone rings – it’s Zeke.

“Hey Zeke,” I say.

“Hiya,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. I spent a tormented night tossing in bed and that stupid, arrogant prick of a magician is to blame. He made me look like a complete idiot – in front of my adoring fans! I bet MI9 are laughing at me as we speak. Oh, when I get my hands on that magician, he’s gonna regret messing with the Cat!”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the Magician might be making a special guest appearance at the British Museum tomorrow night, when they’ll be holding a gala for an unveiling of King Athelstan’s gold chalice – worth £18 million.”

“And I take it MI9 will be part of the action?”

“Of course.”

“Mmm.” A tiny pause. “It’ll be risky for me to be at the Museum without arousing suspicion from the MI9 agents who are also after the same criminal, so it’ll be better if I monitor the Museum from the outside. At least if I get spotted, I’ll be able to make a quick getaway.”

“That’s probably a good idea – out of sight, out of mind and all that.”

There’s a knock on the door. The door opens – it’s Aunt Hermione.

“You ready, Jen?” she asks.

“Coming, Aunt H,” I say. Then I say to Zeke, “I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Laters.” Zeke hangs up – as do I. I collect my stuff and exit the art room with Aunt Hermione.

“Who was that on the phone?” Aunt Hermione asks. “I hope that wasn’t Mr. London calling you, saying he misses hearing your voice.”

“Per-lease, Aunt ‘Mione, Frank and I are not that soppy and pathetic,” I say. I go into lying mode. “No, that was just an old friend from uni inviting me to a night-out tomorrow night.”

“Hmm. Just be careful. London after dark is packed with yobs who just want to roam around and pick fights and get into trouble.”

“Yes, Aunt Hermione.” Like she hasn’t told me that a billion times.

We exit the school and head for the car park. We hop into Aunt Hermione’s car and she gets behind the wheel. She starts the engine and we drive out of the school to home.

**(Frank’s POV)**

The guests begin arriving at the British Museum a little after eight o’clock the next night. Rose and I arrived fifteen minutes before, using the back entrance rather than the front and we were greeted by Neil MacGregor, the Museum’s director. He took us to the control room in the lower level of the Museum. The control room has a large desk with multiple electronic displays and control panels present, and there’s a large wall-sized display area behind the desk showing continuous video surveillance and recording of the Museum, including where the gala is held – the Great Court. As well as seeing the gala from the control room, Rose and I can also hear what is going on via Carrie’s Earring Microphone Communicator. Before Rose and I left for the British Museum, we met up with Oscar and Carrie at HQ where I gave them the gadgets needed for this mission: an Earring Microphone Communicator – so Rose and I can hear what is going on, Night Vision Contact Lenses – for Oscar and Carrie to see in the dark and the Net Launcher – wrist-mounted devices that fire a net that entraps the target, hidden under the sleeves of Oscar’s suit. Also, the Age-Deceiving Pills – to make Oscar and Carrie look older, so no-one – not even the Magician – can see that they’re teens.

By nine o’clock, the Great Court is filled with dozens and dozens of people, all dressed in suits and fancy dresses, chatting in small groups, sometimes laughing loudly, and one or two making what I assume are business deals from all the hand-shaking and the clinking of their glasses.

Half an hour goes by and so far, the party seems to be going well. The entrance and Reading Room of the Great Court glow in purple, while the walls of the Court glow in blue showing a white silhouette of the London skyline. Between the steps of the Reading Room is a small stage with a group of people playing classical music. The waiters and waitresses dressed in black and white are darting back and forth with trays of food and drink. During that time, nothing out of the ordinary has happened – no-one is acting suspiciously or looking shifty.

After another half an hour, Mr. MacGregor goes on stage, standing next to a pedestal, with a round-shaped object covered with a black cloth seating on top.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome and thank you for coming to this gala!” I hear him say. There’s applause. “Now before I unveil this wonderful piece of treasure, I would like to give a brief history to the person who owned it – King Athelstan. Athelstan was the first king of all England, and Alfred the Great's grandson. He reigned between 925 and 939 AD. A distinguished and courageous soldier, he pushed the boundaries of the kingdom to the furthest extent they had yet reached. He was also a great collector of works of art and religious relics, which I am delighted to show you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you King Athelstan’s golden chalice!”

There’s an even bigger and louder applause than before as Mr. MacGregor removes the cloth and reveals the gold chalice that’s encased in a glass dome display case.

Suddenly, the lights start to flicker and then the lights go out. I can hear voices, shock and surprised, startled screams and cries, bodies falling over one another, glass smashing and… a hissing sound?

“Carrie? Carrie, what’s going on?” I ask over the radio connected to her Earring Microphone Communicator.

“I can’t see a damn thing!” she chokes.

“Aren’t the Night Vision Contact Lenses working?” says Rose.

“Oh, they’re working alright. But it’s hard to see anything with all this smoke!” says Carrie.

“A smoke screen,” I deduce. “Very clever, Magician.”

The lights flicker back on. I can hear cries of confusion and hushed whispers. Rose and I turn to the video screens where the smoke in the Great Court dissipates.

“Carrie, what’s happening now?” I ask. No reply. “Carrie?”

“Sorry, Frank,” she says. “I’m standing where the chalice was kept – it’s gone!”

The smoke clears up. I can see Carrie standing next to the glass dome display case, now smashed to pieces, where the chalice was. But where’s Oscar?

“Carrie, where’s Oscar?” I ask.

“I… I don’t know,” she says. I can see her looking around. “He was by my side before the lights went out.”

“Guys, I’m outside the Museum,” I hear Oscar say. “I have the chalice and the Magician.”

“Come on, Rose,” I say, standing up.

Rose and I leave the control room and exit the Museum using the back entrance. Minutes later, we arrive at the front of the Museum. Carrie is already there, with the chalice in her hand and Oscar has the Magician, all tied up.

“Here, Rose,” says Carrie, handing the chalice to Rose so she can examine it. “Oscar says it was hidden under the Magician’s hat.”

“Good work, team,” I say. I turn to the Magician. “Now let’s see the man behind the mask.” I pull the mask off the Magician’s face but I’m completely thrown off by who is behind the mask. Instead of a man, it’s… a woman! “Oh…” I stammer. “Y-you… You’re a girl.”

“You don’t say!” the woman says sarcastically. She has straight black hair that’s cut fashionably short – making me mistake her for a man – emerald eyes, high cheekbones and pale, creamy skin. The woman looks at her surroundings. “What’s going on? Where am I?” She looks down at herself. “Why the hell am I tied up?”

“You mean you don’t remember?” says Carrie.

“Remember what?”

“Stealing King Athelstan’s chalice,” says Oscar. “Not to mention other priceless artefacts, paintings and gems!”

“What!? I did no such thing!” the woman protests.

“Yeah, right!”

“Oscar, she’s right. She didn’t do it,” says Rose.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“The chalice that she stole… is a fake.”

Carrie, Oscar and I look at Rose in surprise and all talk at once.

“What?!” I exclaim.

“No way!” Oscar complains.

“You’re kidding!” Carrie moans.

“I’m afraid not,” says Rose. “When Carrie handed me the chalice, it felt lighter. If this was the real chalice, it would’ve felt heavier since it’s made of gold. The chalice that we have here must be made out of tin or something lighter.”

“This could only mean one thing…” I say.

“The Magician stole the chalice earlier today and replaced it with a fake…” Carrie adds.

“And used an innocent civilian to steal the fake, so we would think that she’s the Magician,” Oscar finishes.

“Exactly,” says Rose.

“Wow. I don’t know who makes us look more stupid – the Magician or the Cat,” says Carrie, folding her arms. “I mean seriously, can this get any more worse?”

My phone rings. I take it out from the inside of my jacket – it’s Chief Agent Stark.

“Sir?” I answer.

“London, we’ve got a problem,” says Stark. “A _massive_ problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The MI9 database has been hacked into and… every bit of information about MI9 is gone. Missions, gadgets, agents – the lot.”

“What?! When did this happen?”

“About ten minutes ago. And you’ll never guess who did this.”

“Oh God, no.”

“Frank? What’s wrong?” Rose asks.

Hanging up, I look at my team, with grave eyes.

“Team, I have bad news,” I start. “About ten minutes ago, the MI9 database was hacked into and I’m afraid… every scrape of MI9 information has been wiped clean from the database.”

“ _WHAT!?_ ” the team screams.

It dawns to Rose. “Oh on, please don’t tell us it’s who we think it is.”

“I’m afraid it is,” I say. “We are at the complete mercy of the Magician. Either he’ll make us pay him a ransom for the information, or worse, he’ll sale the information to the highest bidder and the lives of every MI9 agent will be in danger.”

We stare at each other in worry. The Magician has every report of every mission, every blueprint of every gadget and every agent’s name on him. Worse of all, we have no idea where he is so we can’t track him down.

What are we going to do?


	20. All Is Not Fair in Love and Magic

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’ve been monitoring the British Museum since the guests for the gala started arriving at around eight o’clock. It’s ten to ten and during that time, nothing has happened. The only bit of activity that’s happening is the drunken ruckus and singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ from the Museum Tavern – the pub opposite the British Museum. It’s also where I’m monitoring the Museum from – on the roof, that is.

I know that stakeouts aren’t supposed to be fun, but they are boring. I mean right now, I can be inside the Museum in my best dress (and wig), eating canapés and sipping champagne – all the while looking for suspicious individuals. But since MI9 are after the same criminal I want, I can’t take that risk. They’ll either see me as the Magician or worse, clock on that I’m the Cat – in disguise! Besides, Zeke is monitoring the inside of the Museum – via CCTV.

And speak of the devil; he’s calling me on my communicator.

“Hey Jen, how’s it going?” he says.

“It’s like watching paint dry – it’s boring,” I reply. “Not a single thing is happening out here. What about you?”

“Same. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened – yet.”

“God, this is so boring. I can think of better ways of spending my Saturday night.”

“Like playing tonsil tennis with Frank?”

I sigh disdainfully, even though I can feel myself going red. “I hate you so much, Zeke.”

He chuckles. “And I love you too, Jen,” he smiles.

“Idiot,” I mutter. But Zeke mentioning Frank’s name reminded me of what I wanted to ask him. “Actually Zeke, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Well… it’s kinda personal and you can say no but…” I take a deep breath. “How would you feel if I told Frank that I’m the Cat?”

There’s a silence, then Zeke comes out with, “Oh. Er, how… how long have you been thinking about this?”

“A few weeks – four to five weeks to be exact.”

Zeke nods. “OK. What, er, what made you decide you wanted to tell Frank, nay anybody, this secret?”

“Well… it’s one thing to not tell your family because that sort of secret will spread like wild fire. But with Frank… I don’t know. When I’m with him, I feel like I can tell him anything – my dreams, my fears, my ambitions and my secrets. I keep thinking that if I told him that I’m the Cat, he’ll pull me close, his arms around me and kiss me so tenderly on the lips and promise me he won’t tell a single soul. I feel like I can trust him to keep this to himself and take it to his grave. But then again, if I told him, he’ll probably shop me to the police as there is a million pound reward placed on me…”

“There is no way on God’s green earth that Frank will shop you or grass you up to the police,” Zeke cuts in. “Frank thinks the world of you. He’d rather throw himself under a speeding train than turn you in. Besides, he’s crazy if he turned you in – you’re smart, beautiful and you’re wearing an incredibly sexy catsuit that emphasizes your slender, pear-shape body. If Frank grasses you up without considering those qualities, there’s something wrong with him.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying… that even though I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with you telling other people, you seem to care a lot about Frank. Heck, I may say that you’re in love with him. Plus, he deserves to know the truth about you, so… yes – you have my permission to tell him you’re the Cat.”

“Oh, my God, are you serious?” He nods. “Oh, thanks, Zeke! You’re the absolute best!”

“I aim to please. Oh hello! Looks like we’ve got a bit of action happening at the Museum.”

“What’s happening?”

“The director of the Museum is on stage. Looks like he’s talking about the chalice and probably about King Athelstan. He’s still talking. An-n-nd… here we go – the unveiling of King Athelstan’s chalice. Everybody claps and… uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”

“The lights have gone out in the Great Court!”

“So, the Magician comes out to play. Now the party can really get started!”

“I’m gonna try and get them back on.”

“While I give the Magician a special surprise!”

I activate my jetpack backpack and swoop down to the British Museum to ‘greet’ the Magician. Just when I’m about to land, the doors of the Museum burst open and the Magician comes running out. As he runs down the steps into the courtyard, a suit-clad figure bursts through the entrance doors. He stops at the top of the steps. He raises his hand and suddenly, a net shoots out from under the sleeve of his suit and binds the Magician, causing him to fall over. He’s an MI9 agent!

“Whoa!” I exclaim, immediately pulling up and activating the cloaking device. I head for the roof of the Museum, leaning on the flagpole to catch my breath. “That… was too close. I hope he didn’t see me.”

“What?! Who saw you? What’s going on?” Zeke quizzes me.

“The MI9 agent. I don’t think he saw me before I activated the cloaking device. He was too busy playing Spider-Man to notice me.”

“Spider-Man?”

“You should’ve seen him. He shot out a net to catch the Magician.”

I look down at the courtyard and see the agent with the tied-up magician while holding the chalice. He’s soon joined by another MI9 agent – this one, female and dark-skinned, wearing a dusty blue flare skirt dress and strappy black sandals. The male agent hands the chalice to the female agent.

“What’s happening now?” Zeke asks.

“The MI9 agent is joined by a female agent,” I answer. “They’re with the Magician. Looks like they’re waiting for someone… Hang on.” I hear rushing footsteps. I look up to the gates and see two people running up to the two agents and the Magician – more MI9 agents. One is a girl, with honey-coloured skin, who looks younger than the fancy-dressed agents, dressed head to toe in black. The other is a man, who looks older than the three agents, dressed in a dark blue suit with an awful-looking black and white stripy shirt. “Two other MI9 agents have come into the courtyard. They’re joining the two agents with the Magician. Words are being exchanged. I’m gonna find out what they’re saying. Activate super powered listening device.”

The communicator screen turns black and the sound waves of the conversation below me appear on the screen.

_“Oh… Y-you… You’re a girl.”_

_“You don’t say! What’s going on? Where am I? Why the hell am I tied up?”_

_“You mean you don’t remember?”_

_“Remember what?”_

_“Stealing King Athelstan’s chalice. Not to mention other priceless artefacts, paintings and gems!”_

_“What!? I did no such thing!”_

_“Yeah, right!”_

_“Oscar, she’s right. She didn’t do it.”_

That voice sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?

_“How do you know?”_

_“The chalice that she stole… is a fake.”_

If I can see the look on my face, it would be beyond the realms of pissed.

“In the words of John McEnroe: ‘You cannot be serious’!” I say, feeling frustrated. I carry on listening.

_“…If this was the real chalice, it would’ve felt heavier since it’s made of gold. The chalice that we have here must be made out of tin or something lighter.”_

_“This could only mean one thing…”_

_“The Magician stole the real chalice earlier today and replaced it with a fake…”_

_“And used an innocent civilian to steal the fake, so we would think that she’s the Magician.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“Wow. I don’t know who makes us look more stupid – the Magician or the Cat.”_

“Well, I don’t know what pisses me off more – the fact that I was duped by the Magician… _again_ or the fact that I wasted two hours of my life,” I grumble. Two hours of my life that could’ve gone towards playing tonsil tennis with Frank.

I sigh in annoyance and continue to hear the conversation below me.

_“Team, I have bad news. About ten minutes ago, the MI9 database was hacked into and I’m afraid… every scrape of MI9 information has been wiped clean from the database.”_

_“WHAT!?”_

_“Oh no, please don’t tell us it’s who we think it is.”_

_“I’m afraid it is. We are at the complete mercy of the Magician. Either he’ll make us pay him a ransom for the information, or worse, he’ll sale the information to the highest bidder and the lives of every MI9 agent will be in danger.”_

I stare, open-mouthed. I deactivate the listening device. The screen goes black and Zeke’s face appears.

“Zeke, did you hear that?” I ask.

“As clearly as hearing Brain Blessed on a still day,” says Zeke.

“This is a disaster. Not only did the Magician take the chalice from under _all_ our noses, but he hacked into MI9’s database and wiped out their entire system. The worst thing is we don’t even know where he is…”

“You seem to forget that I can hack into anything, my darling Jen – including police dispatch calls and video surveillance. Eight minutes ago, police were called into pursuit after a black van was spotted speeding through Central London, going through red lights, nearly knocking down pedestrians and driving on the wrong side of the road. The police lost the van after it entered the Wapping/Whitechapel area.”

“I better get down there right away. Keep me posted.”

“Roger that.”

After we hang up, I activate the jetpack backpack. Launching myself in the air, I fly off to East London.

xxoOoxx

Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at my destination. I receive a call from Zeke telling me that there is a black van parked in a location called Fletcher Street. With a map with a red dot flashing shows me the street on the communicator screen, I fly over to the location.

A minute later, I spot the black van at the street that Zeke mentioned. Landing near the van, the airplane wings and engine conceal themselves back into the backpack. The street is quiet and empty. On my left side is a small, dark path with a single-lit lamppost. On one side of the path is a primary school and on the other side is possibly a park based on the amount of trees and bushes that’s there. On my right side is a modern five-storey terrace flat – some of the lights are on, most of them off. Ahead of me is a narrow pedestrian alley. One side is brick walls and fencing from the primary school, with street lanterns along the wall. On the other side is boarded-up buildings and peeling walls. Something is up ahead of the alley. I see someone leaning against the peeling wall of the building under a street lantern above the door. I move slowly and silently towards the person.  I draw closer and glance at the person leaning against the wooden, pale red double doors. The man is tall and he’s got dark hair under his black helmet and very dark eyes and he looks quite well-built. He’s wearing a black jumpsuit and a padded black vest with red buttons and a white skull logo on the left chest of the… vest. He’s a SKUL henchman! I realize instantly that the Magician is working for SKUL and this is where he’s hiding – along with the chalice and all the other valuable items he’s stolen.

Suddenly, the guard stands at attention. Frowning, I look over my shoulder and see what he’s so flustered about. My eyes widen as I see the Grandmaster, with his rabbit companion, General Flopsy, and two burly henchmen coming towards me and the guard. There’s a fourth person with them – a woman. She’s sporting a short blonde asymmetric bob, wearing aqua-coloured jeans, teamed with a lime green top and a blue blazer on top with a blue and green striped scarf completing the look. Her hands are behind her back (tied-up) and with her eyes covered with a blindfold; she’s being escorted with the help of the two henchmen.

When the Grandmaster reaches the doors, the guard salutes him and bends down a bit to open the doors before stepping out of the way. The Grandmaster enters, with the two henchmen and the woman following behind. I quickly enter with them before the guard shuts the doors.

I’m standing in the foyer, that’s suffering from rot, crumbling walls and failing brick and mortar work. To the left of me is a box office. In front of me is a wide staircase with a label above the stairs that reads GALLERY. On the left side of the stairs are directions leading to the ladies toilets, while the gents are probably along the gallery or higher up. Near the stairs, next to the entrance, I peer into a room and see a saloon bar with tables and chairs and frosted glass panels on the windows. The room is dark and cold, and everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Taking my head out of the bar, I notice the Grandmaster, the henchmen and the woman head to the corner of the foyer. I hurry after them. By the time I reach the door, the Grandmaster and the other have already entered. The door is labelled STALLS. I peer through the doorway. What I see makes my mouth drop open in amazement.

The room is huge, like a concert hall, with a high ceiling. There’s a large stage on the far end of the room with dusty, velvet red stage curtains that are decorated with a series of vertical box pleats along the top edge. There’s also a large Grand piano on the side of the stage that’s covered in spiders’ webs and dust, but that’s not what I’m amazed about. It’s what filled in the room. It’s like Aladdin’s Cave of Wonder. The room is filled with the valuable artefacts, paintings, jewellery and gems. The artefacts are in all various shapes and sizes: sculptures, Ming vases, ceramics and ornaments. Paintings and drawings between the 15th\- to 19th-century, including the Essence of Nature Collection from the National Gallery are in the hall. And on a large wooden table, in the middle of the room, is jewellery that is sparkling in gold, silver and rhinestone: earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings and even tiaras, along with a collection of brightly coloured gems: diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

I’m still staring at these untold amounts of riches when I hear a loud squeaking sound. I walk in the room and look to the stage and see the curtains being automatically pulled open. After the curtains are completely open, there’s a puff of smoke that makes me – and the Grandmaster – jump in surprise. In seconds, the Magician makes his big entrance, emerging from the smoke, his black cape billowing out behind him.

“Bravo!” the Grandmaster calls, clapping. “Bravo! What a magnificent entrance!” He turns to his henchmen to ensure that their applauding too. As their clap, the Magician takes a deep bow. One of the henchmen gives a piercing that echoes around the hall. When the clapping dies down, the Magician stands up from his bow. The Grandmaster steps to one side to reveal his female captive. “As you can see, I have fulfilled my side of the bargain. But… have you?”

The Magician steps off the stage towards the table with the jewellery and gems, walking slowly, majestically.

Stopping at the table, the Magician removes his top hat and shakes it right-side up to indicate that it’s empty. He places the hat on table and knocks on the flat part of the hat three times. He removes his hat off the table… to reveal the gold chalice.

“Superb! Magnificent!” says the Grandmaster as he applauds the Magician, along with his henchmen.

I gape at the chalice on the table. I’m gonna hate myself when I admit this, but that is a totally awesome trick.

As the room quietens down, the Magician shows the palm of his hands to the Grandmaster to show that their empty. He closes his right hand into a tight fist and uses his left hand to beckon one of the henchmen to come to him. The Grandmaster obliges and the henchman near me with a fair complexion and blue eyes goes to the Magician. The Magician nods at the henchman and then to his closed fist. The henchman looks confused, until the Grandmaster tells him to blow onto the fist. The henchman gives out a huge blow onto the fist. The Magician opens up his hand and reveals a USB flash drive – MI9’s information data!

“Wow!” says the henchman, clapping once more. He takes the flash drive from the Magician and hands it to the Grandmaster.

“Excellent. You have done well, Magician,” says the Grandmaster, pocketing the flash drive in his dressing gown. “You may have your reward. Untie her.”

The henchman with very dark skin and brown eyes unties the rope from the woman’s wrists and removes the blindfold from her face to reveal her dazzling blue eyes. Judging on the look of her face, she looks early to mid- thirties. The woman rubs her wrists to numb her pain. She stops when she looks at her surroundings.

“Where am I? What is this place?” the woman asks. She turns to the Magician. “You! You’re that magician the media have been talking about.”

The Magician walks towards the woman, taking long and graceful strides. The woman freezes on the spot – looking terrified.

“Wh-who are you?” she stammers. “What do you want with me?”

The Magician doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes the woman’s right hand and closes it. He brings the closed hand to his mask and pulls away. (I think that’s supposed to be a kiss.) The Magician nods at the woman to open her hand. As she does, the woman gasps at what she sees in her hand – a gold diamond heart ring.

“Oh, my God,” says the woman, stunned. “It can’t be. Randolph?”

Randolph?!

“Emma Jean…” he rasps. He has a hoarse voice, like sandpaper. “It’s been so long.”

“Randolph, what are you doing? What is all this?” She gestures to the valuables around the room.

“I’ve come to reclaim what is mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was foolish for losing you, my darling. After the accident, I fell into despair and selfishly focused on my own dilemma while rejecting your love, causing me to drive you away in anguish. Eventually, I came to realize that your love was too important to me to lose, but it was already too late, you were gone. Losing both you and my career, I stumbled from day to day with the verge of committing suicide – something I haven’t thought about since my mother died – when I met the Grandmaster.” Randolph nods towards the Grandmaster. “He promised to reunite me with you if I amassed a fortune in stolen items.”

“And you have a done a marvellous job, my dear Magician,” says the Grandmaster.

“Now that we’re together again, we can start over,” says Randolph. “It’ll be just like it was in the beginning.”

He bends to hug Emma Jean, but she pulls away. She takes a few uncertain steps back.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Randolph asks.

“What’s wrong?” she repeats. “What’s wrong is that the man I loved all those years ago has turned himself into a criminal – working for some dressing gown-wearing bunny handler!”

“It’s not a dressing gown, it’s a ceremonial robe,” the Grandmaster interjects.

“I loved you, Randolph,” Emma Jean continues. “I loved you even after the accident, but your selfishness and rejection to me caused me to leave you. It took me almost a year to get you out of my system. I had longed to be touched and caressed by you, at the same time vowing to resist never allowing you back into my space again. I was tormented until I met Michael, who helped me erase you from my system. He made sure that you, Randolph – you were a distant memory.”

They stand in silence. I can feel the tension crackle between them, like lightning skipping along an electric wire. I take this opportunity to wander to the Grandmaster and using considerable dexterity; I skilfully take the flash drive from his dressing gown pocket and put it in one of the cylinders of my belt.

“Bu-but… I did this for you,” says Randolph at last, suddenly sounding more sad than angry. “I did everything for you. And now… you’re rejecting me?”

“Now you know how I felt,” says Emma Jean.

“Emma Jean, I-I love you. You’re everything to me. Without you… I’m nothing.”

“Well, guess what, Randolph? I don’t love you. In simple English, I don’t love you.” She pronounces the words slowly and distinctly. “And by the way, I am not yours. And I never was!”

I can only imagine Randolph’s mouth dropping open. His face filled with a mixture of shock and anger.

“We’ll just see about that,” he states, moving quickly, walking towards Emma Jean with what I can picture a menacing expression behind the mask.

Emma Jean stumbles back, raising her hands as if to shield herself. Before Randolph can grab hold of his ex-lover, I swoop in and scoop her off her feet and carry her to the balcony of the hall.

“What the…!” Randolph cries angrily, gazing up at Emma Jean landing on the upper floor, wondering how she got there.

“Deactivate cloaking device!” I command to the communicator, revealing my visible self to Emma Jean, Randolph, the Grandmaster and his henchmen.

“It’s you!” Emma Jean gasps. “You’re…”

“The Cat!” the Grandmaster finishes. “You interfering little –”

“Say you prayers, Grandmaster!” I declare, pointing at him. “You and your little friends are not gonna get away this time! Not from me and certainly not from MI9 when I’m finished with you!”

“The only people finished around here are MI9! Especially since I’ve got their information –” The Grandmaster stuffs a hand into an empty pocket. “What?! The flash drive – where is it?!”

I whip out the flash drive. “Looking for something?” I say. I hear the Grandmaster gasp in shock when he sees me hold the drive.

“Get her! I want that flash drive!” he orders his henchmen.

The henchmen head towards the stage. Next to the stage are stairs leading up to the floor that Emma Jean and I are at. While they make their way over, I spot a door behind me at the end of the balcony, close to the stage. I tell Emma Jean to go to the room behind us and hide.

As she leaves, I pocket the flash drive and go into a martial arts stance as the henchmen reach the opposite end of where I stand. The fair henchman goes first, lunging at me with clenched fists. I step out of the way just in time, causing him to punch thin air, stumble and very nearly fall over. The henchman turns to face me, but I pull him to his shoulder and strike through, knocking him to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I see the dark henchman coming towards me, but with the spin of my body, I deliver a solid strike to his stomach.

“Uuugh!” he grunts, clutching his stomach.

I’m about to finish him off when I feel my hands being pulled behind my back. I struggle to free myself, but the fair henchman squeezes my wrists tightly. The dark henchman recovers from his blow to the stomach and glares at me. His dark eyes are blazing. He sneers, baring his teeth. He cracks his knuckles, getting ready to punch my lights out.

“Smash her face in,” says the fair henchman. I can feel his hot breath against my cheek.

“With pleasure,” says the dark henchman, raising his fist.

Before he can lunge at me, I hit out hard, catching him right where it hurts most.

“Oooooomph!” says the dark henchman, doubling up.

While he’s distracted, I give the henchmen my special double whammy high kick – a high kick that kicks one henchman on the chin with my foot and hitting the other henchman on the nose with my shin.

The fair henchman staggers back, freeing me from his grip. I turn to him. He’s holding his nose to stop the blood. He scowls angrily at me and charges towards me but I swing my leg, kicking him. Then I come around and kick him again with my other leg, sending him over the balcony and crashing into the jewelled-covered table below. I look below. The fair henchman is lying motionless on the broken table, his left leg sticking out in an odd angle. I hope he’s not dead.

“Uuuuh…” the fair henchman groans in pain.

I let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank God. The last thing I want is the ghost of a dead person haunting me.

I hear more groaning – this time coming from the dark henchman. He climbs very gingerly to his feet, shaking his head. With dark, angry eyes, he takes out something from his trouser pocket. It looks sharp and glints silver in the light.

A knife!

The henchman lunges at me with his knife. I kick the blade out of his hands and I roundhouse kick him. The henchman is about to take a swing at me, but with startling quickness, I whip out my Lipstick Stun Gun from the cylinder cartridge of my utility belt and jab the stun gun in the his abdomen.

“GYAAAN!” he screams as the electric current is being applied.

Five seconds later, I pull the stun gun from his abdomen. With smoke coming out of his mouth, the dark henchman falls back with a _thud_ , his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

“Grrrrr…!” I hear the Grandmaster growl angrily. I turn to him. “You haven’t heard the last of me, Cat!” he calls. He drops a smoke bomb and he and General Flopsy disappear.

“Damn,” I mutter, slamming my fists on the balcony because he’s gotten away – again! I let out a sigh and call out to Emma Jean. “It’s OK, Emma Jean! You can come out now!”

No reply.

“Emma Jean? Are you all right?” I ask.

I hear Emma Jean’s faint cry. “ _Help! Somebody – help me!_ ” she screams.

I rush to the room where I told Emma Jean to hide. When I get there, I find it empty. Randolph! But how? I hear a sound from the next room. It sounds like footsteps. I go through the echoing, empty room. There’s a small door at the end of the room. Creaking it open, I find a staircase. Activating the torch from my communicator, I walk down the slightly rickety stairs.

Three flights of stairs later, I feel a cold draught blowing through me and half opens a door at the bottom of the staircase. I stride through the door and realise that I’m standing behind the counter of the bar that I peeked into earlier.

“Kyaaaa! Nooo!”

“Emma Jean!” I jump over the counter and dash out of the bar.

Pulling the doors open, I run out and spot Randolph dragging Emma Jean to the black van. While running to the van, the SKUL henchman who was guarding the door comes running up to me. But my business is not with him, so I punch the henchman with great force that knocks him out instantly. I continue to run to the van, when Randolph starts the engine and begins to pull out. From my utility belt I whip out a black lipstick tube. Removing the lid, I point the lipstick to the wheels of the van, rotating the bottom base of the lipstick that shoots a red beam from the lipstick, blowing the tyres up.

Randolph gets out of the van and angrily marches up to me.

“Laser Lipstick – never leave home without it,” I say, pocketing the lipstick.

“You meddling little bitch!” Randolph rages. “You have no right to stop me from reclaiming my love for Emma Jean. She is mine, she is mine, she is mine, mine, mine – all mine!”

Randolph delivers an overhead strike to my head, but I block it with both hands, intercepting the attacking arm in a smooth, flowing motion. I twist and turn the arm, flipping Randolph to the floor. Randolph sweeps his leg at my feet, tripping me.

“Ah! Christ!” I groan in pain, sitting up. Randolph towers over me, but I draw my legs to my chest and thrust them both into Randolph’s stomach, causing him to stagger backwards. I do a valdez back walkover and then a back handspring to a standing position.

Randolph shakes his head and growls. “Ergh… Wh-why you…!” He sweeps his cape behind him, sending a pack of razor-sharp playing cards flying in my direction.

“Whoa!” I say. I manage to dodge most of them, but I hiss in pain when some of the cards cut my shoulders, forearms, legs and my left cheek. Once again, Randolph sweeps his foot, tripping me. “Oww…” I moan. I look up and see Randolph towering over me – this time; he has a dagger in his hand!

“Say goodnight, Miss Cat,” he says, ready to stab me. “This will be the last time you’ll ever interfere in other people’s business.”

I close my eyes, waiting for the pain. But it doesn't come immediately as expected. I open my eyes and see Randolph is frozen on the spot. It’s only when I look behind him and realise that Emma Jean has given her ex-boyfriend a full force groin attack from behind. The kick is so great; it causes Randolph to drop his weapon, giving me a chance to escape. Emma Jean pulls her foot from between Randolph’s legs. He bowls over in pain and goes into the foetal position, placing his hands between his legs. Taking out the Lipstick Stun Gun, I remove the lid and jab it in his upper hip.

“Eeee! Eeee!” he squeals.

Pulling the stun gun away, Randolph’s body twitches uncontrollably.

I let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Thanks,” I say, patting Emma Jean of the shoulder, wincing in pain as I do it.

“No problem,” she says. She points to my injuries. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. I’m like Destiny’s Child: I’m a survivor. Right. Let’s see what Randolph is really hiding.”

I kneel down next to Randolph and roll him on his back, his body still shaking. I remove his top hat and gently lifting his head, I remove the mask. What I see makes my eyes widen and Emma Jean gasp. Randolph’s face is barely recognizable: there’s a gash on the right side of his partly balding head, an elongated right nostril, a missing right eyebrow, swollen lips, different coloured eyes: his left eye is ice blue and his right eye is bloodshot red, and he has a deep purple scar that runs all the way down his right cheek, as well as severe burn injuries.

“How… how did this even happen?” I say, not believing what I’m seeing.

“It happened three years ago,” says Emma Jean. I look up to her. “Back then, he was a professional stage magician and hypnotist known as Randolph the Great. Back then, he had everything: money, fame… and me. I was his assistant and his fiancée. We were in love having built a steady living together. Life was good, until – until –”

She hesitates.

“What happened?” I ask.

Emma Jean clears her throat and continues. “It was a month before we were supposed to marry. Randolph was performing his escape trick at one of his shows, but… but the trick went wrong when the box exploded prematurely, leaving his face and reputation permanently scarred. When he was healing in hospital, he became too stressed with his own dilemma that he came to ignore me…”

“And in a selfish move, he drove you away.”

Emma Jean nods. She shuts her eyes and keeps them shut for a long moment. “I quit the magic show business after I left Randolph,” she says with a sigh, opening her eyes. “I studied photography to distance myself from the Randolph and the world of magic and tricks, and I passed with flying colours. I now work for _Vogue_ magazine as their resident fashion photographer. It was there that I met Michael Cohen, a self-made fashion designer, during a photo shoot. One minute we’re striking up a conversation, the next minute, he’s asking me to move in with him.”

“Looks like you got your happy ending after all.”

She smiles. “Yeah. You’re right. Michael is a total sweetheart and he treats me like princess. He not only fits into my world, he is my entire world.”

“There you go!”

My communicator beeps. I read the text.

_MI9 coming in two minutes – Z_

“Listen, I gotta jet,” I say, standing up. “Could you hold the fort for a couple of minutes? Just until MI9 get here.”

“Sure,” Emma Jean says, nodding.

“Thanks.” I activate the backpack. Before I take off, I take out the flash drive from my belt. “Here,” I say, handing the flash drive to Emma Jean. “Tell MI9 that the Cat says you’re welcome.”

“OK.”

“Take care.”

I launch myself in the air and waving at Emma Jean, I take off. Man, my body is aching all over. Those stupid razor-sharp cards. Its paper cuts times fifty. I need to get bandaged up. Oh God, what am I gonna tell Aunt Hermione? She’ll wanna know why I’m wrapped up like a mummy.

I fly to Zeke’s house while I think up some (very lame) excuses.


	21. Late Nights and Early Mornings

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been ten minutes since the team and I found out that MI9’s information database was hacked into and wiped out by the Magician. Everyone is in a state of panic – if the Magician sales the information, MI9 is done for. Stark has every agent available doing a wide scale search of the city searching for the Magician. Knowing that there’s nothing we can do, we let Eve go – the woman who we thought was the Magician – and I drive the team to Oscar’s house, as Rose and Carrie have told their parents that that’s where they’re spending the night.

The ride to the house is a silent one. I glance at Rose, who’s sitting at the front passenger seat; her head is against the window, her eyes closed. I examine Carrie and Oscar in the rear-view mirror. Carrie is slumped in her seat, with her arms crossed and her eyes closed. Oscar is awake and looking out of the window, silent. I can’t blame him – it’s bad enough he has to go into hiding when his mother, Jade, betrayed MI9 for SKUL, now he’ll have to go into hiding again if the information about him goes out. I don’t fare much either. If I go into hiding, I’ll never see Jenny again. I don’t want to lose her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love her. If I disappear, she’ll be devastated, as well as heartbroken. The thought of that makes me clutch the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles crack.

I hope the Magician will be found.

And soon.

Stopping at the traffic lights, my phone rings. Fishing it out, I answer.

“Hello?”

“Frank, get yourself down to Whitechapel,” says Stark.

“What’s happened?”

“MI9 has received an anonymous call saying that the Magician is hiding out in some building called Wilton’s Music Hall. They say that the stolen fortunes and the information data are hidden there as well. We’re gonna check it out.”

_Honk! Honk!_

The sound of the car horn behind me causes Rose and Carrie to wake up with a start and Oscar to jump six inches, hitting his head in the process.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I say, then hang up. I take off before the lights change and make a U-turn.

“What’s going on?” says Carrie, stifling a huge yawn.

“We’re heading to Whitechapel,” I say, glancing at Carrie in the rear-view mirror, and then looking back at the road. “Stark has received an anonymous call saying that the Magician is hiding in a building called Wilton’s Music Hall.”

“I’ll use my Spy-Pod to pinpoint the location,” says Rose, immediately getting to work.

“What about the stolen fortunes and the information data?” Oscar asks.

“Stark says that they’re there, too,” I say. I hope they are. If we’re being lead on a wild goose chase, then MI9 are finished.

xxoOoxx

About fifteen minutes later, we pull up to Ensign Street, where there’s a row of black cars and vans parked along the road. We climb out of the car and follow a group of suited agents to a pedestrian alley called Graces Alley.

It’s pandemonium! The alley is crowded with agents and SWAT officers. I ask one of the agents where I can find Stark. After the female agent tells me that he’s in the Music Hall, the team and I push through the crowd to the open double doors. Once inside, we make our way to the stalls. Other than agents, the room is filled with the artefacts, paintings and on a large, broken table, the gems that that the Magician stole over the last few weeks. We move aside when we see the paramedics take someone out of the room on a stretcher. He’s a SKUL henchman. Obviously in terrible pain, his face greeny-white, his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead, his nose bloody and his leg in an odd angle.

“That’s disgusting,” says Carrie, her face looking nauseated.

“Is he even alive?” says Rose.

“Barely.” We turn to find Stark coming towards us. “But I’ve been told by the paramedics that he’s gonna be OK.”

I nod. “So it looks like the anonymous caller was right about the Magician being here,” I say. “Where is he?”

“He was taken away a few minutes before you got here. His real name is Randolph Miller – a former professional stage magician and hypnotist. We found him shaking like a leaf. You should’ve seen his face. Horrific-looking scars. He makes the Elephant Man look like Ryan Gosling… There’s someone behind me, isn’t there?”

The team and I nod. Stark reluctantly turns to face an angry-looking woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Ah…” Stark laughs nervously. “You, er… you didn’t hear anything I just said… did you?”

“Hmph!” the woman huffs, shouldering past Stark and exiting the room.

“Turns out she did,” I say.

Stark’s face grows bright crimson with embarrassment as the Rose, Carrie and Oscar stifle their giggles.

“That’s, er, that’s Emma Jean McGowen,” Stark says. “Miller’s ex-fiancée and former stage magician assistant to him. We found her with Miller when we got there, along with a SKUL henchman – knocked out cold. He was taken away as well.”

“Why do I get the feeling that it wasn’t the woman who took out the Magician and the SKUL henchmen?” says Carrie. “I mean, come on! Who else can kick a man over a balcony that gets his leg in an odd angle, knock someone out in a single punch and use a stun gun on the bad guy?”

“So once again, the Cat gets ahead of us,” says Oscar.

“She gets to play the hero again while we clean up the mess,” says Rose.

“What makes you think it was the Cat who did this?” demands Stark.

“Sorry, I forgot to give you this.” Emma Jean come backs in the room and fishes out a flash drive from her jeans pocket. She hands it to me.

“Oh, er, thanks,” I say.

“The Cat says you’re welcome.” Narrowing her eyes at Stark, Emma Jean leaves the room.

“What is that?” Carrie asks.

Taking the flash drive from me, Rose plugs it into her Spy-Pod.

“No way! It’s the information data!” she exclaims. “Looks like everything is here.”

“It seems the Cat had everything to do with this,” I say.

“Grrr… Dammit! Why are we always, always, _always_ beaten to the punch by the Cat?!” Stark snaps. “This is an insult to the entire MI9 organization!”

“Let’s just be grateful that the Cat stopped Randolph from giving highly-exclusive information to the Grandmaster. If it wasn’t for her, MI9 would’ve been done for.”

Everyone hesitates. They shrug.

“I… I suppose your right, Frank,” says Oscar. “If SKUL had gotten their hands on the information data, we would’ve all had to move to the North Pole or something.”

“Blue lips and frostbite do not work well with me,” Carrie jokes. “But I am thankful that the Cat saved our bacon.”

“I agree,” says Rose.

We turn to Stark.

“Oh fine!” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is the one time that I appreciate the Cat helping us out. But someday, I’m gonna unmask her and show the world who she really is.”

“Right now, how about we return these irreplaceable objects to their rightful owners?” I say. “I’ll return the flash drive back to HQ and drive Rose, Carrie and Oscar home.”

Stark nods in agreement. I take the flash drive from Rose and lead her, Carrie and Oscar out of the building to the car. We pile in and head for Thames House – the main headquarters of MI9. When we arrive there, I upload the information data back into the computer and have Rose create an impenetrable firewall to stop anyone else from hacking into the database. When she’s finishes, we hop back into the car and drive the team to Oscar’s house.

After a short while, I pull up outside the safe house. The team hop out and bid me a goodnight, waving at me when they enter the house. As soon as the door closes, I let a yawn. I look at my watch and it says 11:45 – that’s quite late. Stifling another yawn, I start the engine and head home.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I get to St Hope’s early on Monday morning. I left a note to Aunt Hermione saying that I’ve gone jogging when in actuality; I woke up very early to avoid Aunt Hermione’s questions as to why my shoulders, arms and legs are bandaged up. I could say that a stray cat attacked me. But that would mean a trip to the hospital and getting an unnecessary tetanus shot. The only reason it’s unnecessary is because I already received it from Zeke.

After I beat Randolph, I flew over to Zeke’s place, where he cleaned and dressed my cuts. He also gave me antibiotics and let me crash for the night. After he gave me my shot on Sunday, he told me to rest for a bit while my cuts heal and he fixes me another catsuit. So all in all, I’m wrapped like a mummy, but at least I get a few days off missions. Meaning I have time to see _The Great Gatsby_ with Frank.

And speaking of Frank, I spot him sitting on one of the benches along the walls near the entrance doors to the school. I make my way to him – only to find him sleeping. Damn, he is so cute. But I’ve got to wake him up. I don’t want Aunt Hermione finding him like this.

“Frank?” I say gently.

No answer.

“Frank?” I say a little louder, gently shaking his shoulder.

He doesn’t blink.

“Hmmmm,” I hum. He’s such a heavy sleeper… or is he? A sly smile creeps on my face. There’s only one other way to wake him up.

I lean forward. My hand reaches up and slightly strokes his face. And then, as I slowly tilt his chin, I press my lips to his, softly at first, then harder.

As I start to back away, I’m started to feel Frank slide his hands around the back of my neck and pulling my head down towards his, causing our lips to crush together. His tongue delves into my mouth, urgently massaging my tongue.

When the kiss ends, we’re both breathing hard. Our foreheads touching.

“Thought that might wake you up,” I say.

“What can I say? I like to start my morning with a kiss,” says Frank.

“You dork,” I say – but I smile. I draw back and slide next to Frank on the bench. “So how was your weekend?”

“Quiet. Boring. Dull,” he says. He turns to me. “You on the other hand – you look like you had a somewhat eventful night out on Saturday.”

I frown in confusion.

“Your cheek.” Frank points. “What’s with the plaster?”

Damn, I forgot about that. How am I gonna explain this one?

“Oh, er, this?” I say, covering the plastered cheek with my hand. “Well, you know how it is on a night out. You drink, drink and drink some more, you get tipsy and suddenly, you end up drunkenly trying to befriend a stray cat and it scratches you on the cheek.”

“A stray cat scratched you? Did you see a doctor? If you haven’t, then you need to see one right now! For all you know, you may have come in contact with teta–”

I put my hand over his mouth.

“I went to the hospital yesterday. They gave me an injection and antibiotics,” I say, not telling the truth, telling the truth.

“Oh, right. Well… good,” Frank says.

“Frank, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”

“I know. But you mean a lot to me, Jen. If anything _did_ happen to you…” Frank pulls me against him until my head is resting against his shoulder. He rubs the top of my head with his cheek. “Sometimes, I’m just concerned about you, you know?”

I close my eyes and snuggle into his shoulder. Frank is such a sweetheart – so sensitive and caring… so _nice_.

Opening my eyes, I pull back and look into Frank’s loving blue eyes and kiss him tenderly.

“I’m so lucky to have someone like you,” I say.

Frank smiles. “Me, too.” He gives me a kiss in the middle of my forehead.

I cosy up against his shoulder while Frank places his arm around my shoulders.

“Hey, Frank? Can we see _The Great Gatsby_ tonight?” I ask. “I promise I won’t cancel like last time.”

“So long as I buy the popcorn,” he says.

“Deal. Is 7:30 OK for us to meet?”

“It’s a date.”

We don’t say anything after that. We just cuddle up together, watching the students and the teachers come in and wait for the school day to begin.


	22. The Witness

**(Frank’s POV)**

6:00 P.M.

That’s the time the Head of MI9 told me, Rose, Carrie and Oscar to come to Thames House and meet her. She didn’t say much – she just told us to come to MI9 headquarters for an urgent meeting.

So, here we are, in the meeting room, waiting for the Head. The room is medium size, minimal and white, with the exception of the ten black swivel chairs surrounding the white boardroom table and the three large canvas paintings showcasing abstract art along the wall. Opposite the paintings is a large window that has a spectacular view of London.

I look at my watch – 5:59 P.M. The Head should be here in a minute or so.

“What do you think that call was about?” Rose asks for about the millionth time.

“Like Frank told you five minutes ago, he doesn’t know, Rose,” Carrie says before I can say anything. “You can’t know everything, you know.”

“I can try!”

“The call was mysterious though,” I continue. “Whatever it was, she sounded really urgent – meaning that the mission we’re getting must be a very important one.”

Just then, the Head enters the room, carrying a black file in her hands.

“Good evening, agents,” she says. “I’m sorry for calling you here at this time. But the mission I’m about to give you is one of the utmost importance.”

Ha, I knew it!

“Agents, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” says the Head. “Stark, bring him in!”

The door opens and Stark enters the meeting room. Another man enters after Stark. He’s tall and slender, but quite muscular. He has dark skin, black hair and brown eyes, wearing a long-sleeved sweater shirt over dark denim jeans with black boots.

I can see Carrie nudging at an open-mouthed Rose, whispering, “That is one hunkalicious hottie.”

Oscar rolls his eyes as Rose nods in agreement.

“Agents, this is Tom Stone,” says the Head, nodding to the dark-skinned man.

“Hi, Tom,” Rose and Carrie say in unison.

“What’s up?” he says with a smile.

Oscar gives his eyes another roll as Rose and Carrie blush and giggle girlishly.

Stark clears his throat. “If you don’t mind…?” he says, prompting the girls to quieten down.

“Thank you,” says the Head. “Like I said, this is Tom Stone. He’s twenty-seven years old from Hammersmith and is a tailoring consultant for King and Allen in Savile Row. Your mission is simply this: guard Mr. Stone.”

Oscar puts his hand up. “Erm… who are we protecting him from?” he asks.

“This man.” The Head opens the file and places it on the table. The team and I stare at a headshot photograph of a stern-looking man in his sixties with olive skin, slicked back dark brown hair and light brown eyes, wearing a black suit jacket and white shirt with the top button not done up. “This is Julio Vargas. Born in Notting Hill to an Italian mother and Spanish father, Vargas is a gangster and boss of the Vargas crime family. He is also leader of a criminal organisation called the _Cuatro Jinetes_ – the Four Horsemen – which consists of him and his henchmen: Rizzo Montana, Skippy Beretta and Freddy Patucci. Their allies are the Clerkenwell crime syndicate, the Colombian drug cartels and ‘Yardie gangs’ or hoodie gangs hired as muscle. The Horsemen’s criminal activities include drug trafficking, armed robbery, arms trafficking, assault, extortion, fraud, Skimming, money laundering, murder and attempted murder…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but what has this got to do with Tom?” Carrie asks.

“Two nights ago, after a night out with friends, Mr. Stone witnessed Vargas and his crew shoot and kill an informant named Reggie Ratburn, a.k.a. Reggie the Rat. After the killing, Vargas spotted Mr. Stone and ordered his men to get him and have him killed. Luckily, Mr. Stone managed to escape and briefly went into hiding before coming to us.”

“Why didn’t Tom go to the police?” Rose asks.

The Head hesitates. It’s down to Stark.

“What was failed to be mentioned is that the Horsemen are known for their Bribery and have developed alleged connections to the Metropolitan Police,” he says. “They are also stated to have a British Conservation MP in their pocket at one point.”

“No way!” Carrie says, shocked. “How did Tom find out about MI9?”

“I’ve got a friend whose uncle works as a Senior Crown Prosecutor at the Crown Prosecution Service,” says Tom. “The CPS has being wanting to put Vargas behind bars for years, but no witnesses have ever come forward as Vargas and his goons either frighten them off or… you know.”

We all know what he means.

“Anyway,” Tom continues, “my friend’s uncle called up a friend of his who works for MI9, passed the message onto the Head and here I am. The Head has suggested that I should testify against Vargas if he can be tried, but for now, I’m in witness protection until the time comes.”

“Which is why Mr. Stone will be taking refuge at St Hope’s,” says the Head. “You’ll be able to keep a close eye on him and if the worse happens, you can take him to HQ under the school. Any questions?”

“Just one,” says Oscar. “Don’t you think Vargas will post a description of Tom to every hoodie gang in London as well as put a price on his head? For all we know, there might be a gang near St Hope’s – they’ll spot Tom and tell Vargas, who’ll order them to take him out or Vargas will do it himself and take out Tom – along with anyone else who stands in the way.”

“Oscar’s right,” says Rose. “We’ll need something to disguise him.”

“What about the Age-Deceiving Pills?” Carrie suggests. “We’ll use the blue pills to make Tom younger. That way he’ll be unrecognizable to Vargas and the Hoodies.”

We all stare at Carrie with amazed silence.

“I… I thought it was a good idea…” she stammers.

“Good?” says Rose. “It’s brilliant!”

“It’s genius!” I add.

“Let’s do it!” says Tom.

“Then it’s settled,” says the Head. “Tomorrow, Mr. Stone will attend St Hope’s disguised as a pupil. MI9 will provide him the school uniform, but tonight, he’ll be staying at Agent Cole’s safe house. If that’s all right with you, Agent Cole.”

“That’s fine by me,” Oscar replies.

The Head nods and walks to the door. She grabs the handle and just before she pulls the door open, she turns to Tom. “Just one more thing, Mr. Stone,” she says. “Contact with the outside world is limited – that means no phone calls, emails or any social networking.” The Head turns to the team and me. “Agents, protect Mr. Stone at all costs – he is the only one who can put Vargas and his gang behind bars… for good.”

Everyone in the room nods and the Head opens the door and leaves the room, Stark following behind.

“Right, well, we better introduce ourselves,” I say, standing up. “I’m Frank London. This is my team – Rose Gupta, Oscar Cole and Carrie Stewart.”

Rose and Carrie blush and mumble their hellos, while Oscar is confident with his hello and shakes Tom’s hand.

After the introductions, we leave Thames House and climb into my car to drop everyone in turn. First off, it’s Carrie.

“See you tomorrow, guys!” she says as she gets out of the car. “Bye Tom.” Carrie shyly waves at him and dives for her front door.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Right, Rose, you’re next.”

Rose gets delivered. She doesn’t say anything – she nods and waves before letting herself into her house.

Oscar and Tom are left in the car. After a few minutes, we arrive at the safe house. We all step out of the car and enter the safe house. While Oscar shows Tom his room, I explain the situation to Agent Percy Reed – the agent looking after Oscar.

“It’s just for a few days, just until Vargas is tried,” I finish. “So is it OK?”

“That’s fine – the more the merrier!” says Agent Reed. “Would you like to stay and have something to eat or drink?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m gonna get going. Thanks again for taking in Tom.” I go to the hallway and call from the bottom of the stairs, “Oscar! Tom! I’m heading off now!”

Oscar and Tom come bounding downstairs.

“Oscar, bring Tom to school early tomorrow so I can give him the Age-Deceiving Pill. I’ll write up a school report about him and try and persuade Flatley to take him in – despite the fact that it’s June and mock exams are next week,” I say. “See you tomorrow and remember Oscar – stay alert.”

Oscar nods and with that, I leave the house. I head for the car, but almost at once have a feeling that I’m being watched. By the car, I kneel down, pretending to tie up my shoe just so I can glance around the street.

No movement.

No shadow withdrawing into the darkness beyond.

“Hmm,” I hum and enter the car. My mind is playing tricks on me. I sigh and shake my head and start the car. Just when I start to pull out, I spot someone on a BMX bike, several yards away.

I can’t make them out as they’re dressed in black and their hoodie is covering their face. I open the door and get out onto the road to catch a glimpse of the person, but the mysterious black-clothed biker takes off and disappears around the corner.

“He can’t be…? Could he?” I mutter to myself, glancing to the safe house then back to the place where the biker was at. I dismissively shake my head and go back into the car. I do up my seatbelt, pull out and drive home. “It’s probably nothing,” I say to myself. “It’s just some kid going to meet up with his friends, that’s all.”

But if that’s the case, why do I have this feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach?

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Oh man, I’m gonna be late!” I say to myself as I run. “Stupid alarm on my phone! Didn’t wake me up at the designated time!”

Actually, it’s more my fault than my phone alarm. I overslept this morning. Not because of playing video games all night, clubbing with Livi or catching a late-night movie with Frank. My reason is this: the Year Ten mock exams are next week, so I’ve being spending the last week giving after school tutoring to the students – from three thirty till seven. On top of that, I’ve been spending my nights marking everybody’s homework and test sheets. Meaning, I hardly have any time to kick any bad-guy butt. Luckily, Zeke has been very understanding, so he’s given me time off until the exams have finished.

I check my watch. It’s 11:12 A.M.

“Arrgh! Gotta hurry up,” I say. “I’ll have to take the shortcut through the park.”

I scuttle to the park and hurry through there. The park is always deserted in the mornings, with the exception of the birds and the few joggers that come here. I frown up at the dark clouds that are gathering, sweeping along by a chilly breeze, playing hide-and-seek with the sun. I let myself through a secret opening in the fence, hoping I can make it to St Hope’s on time.

I run through a short, narrow alley before I spot the ivy-covered wall on the opposite end. I nip over the wall and right out in the road. I sprint down the street and round the corner and hey presto! I pull up at the gate of St Hope’s, panting, the bell ringing at the same time – break time is over. I made it… just. I take one deep breath and make my way into the school.

As I walk along the corridor to the English room, I think about how everyone has gone from slackers to swotting all-stars. Before I came here, homework and exams were at an all-time low. Now, it seems that with a bit of motivation, everyone – including Scoop – has got their act together. Here’s why. A few months ago, I promised everyone that if they do really well in their exams, they’ll get an end-of-term prom. Since that day, everyone has got their heads in the books. It’s a carrot on a stick like that that gets anyone easily motivated.

I step into the classroom and say good morning to everyone, make my way to my desk – and stop.

“Hey!” A boy I have never seen before is sitting at the front.

He’s kind of handsome. Dark skin, dreamy brown eyes, chiselled cheekbones and a gorgeous mouth with a full bottom lip and a diamond stud in one ear. He’s wearing the standard St Hope’s school uniform, but his tie is loosen and hanging over his jumper and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal multiple brightly coloured rubber wristbands on each wrist.

He has made himself right at home. His books and notebooks are spread out. And he’s taking notes from the play that everyone has been studying all year – _Romeo and Juliet_.

“I’ve never seen you before,” I say, standing over him.

He gazes up at me with those brown eyes. “No, you haven’t,” he replies casually. “I just transferred here today.”

“Excuse me?” I say, staring down at him.

“Jenny, this is Rome Black,” says Rose. “He transferred here from St Michael’s because his school has a rat infestation.”

“Oh. Well, er, welcome to St Hope’s, Rome. I’m Jenny Brownstone – your homeroom teacher. Please don’t call me Miss Brownstone – Jenny or Jen will suffice.”

“All right… Jen,” he says, with a nod and a smile.

“I see you’ve met our transfer student.”

I look up to find Aunt Hermione standing at the door.

“Oh, er, yeah,” I say, going over to her. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“I tried calling you,” says Aunt Hermione. “Time and time again, and they all went straight to voicemail.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. Three missed calls and a text from her.

_There’s a student being transferred to St Hope’s from St Michael’s – his name is Rome Black._

“Ah…” I ah-ed. “Right, well… thanks for that, Aunt H. I, er… I better get back to my lesson.”

“Mmm,” she hums and walks out of the classroom.

I pocket my phone and slink back to my desk, my eyes on an open-mouthed Rome. “Yes, you heard right, Rome. The deputy headmistress is my aunt,” I say. “You would’ve thought someone had already told you.”

“No, they didn’t,” he says, his eyes drifting to Rose and Carrie on the next table, but they turn away and stare at their textbooks and continue scribbling notes in their notebooks.

“Well, now you know. Now, concentrate on Shakespeare.”

Rome goes back to his work, while I slide into my seat. I pull out a paperback novel from my bag and slouch in my seat, my feet resting on the table. I open to the page marked by the bookmark tucked inside and begin to silently read as I let the class carry on with their studying.

xxoOoxx

I go to Starbucks in the town centre at lunchtime to fork out for a few refreshments as I missed breakfast and I didn’t pack a lunch – a steak and cheese Panini, a chocolate muffin, a.k.a. the Mississippi Mud Muffin, and a fruit smoothie. The bus drops me off around the corner and I wander back up the road when I see a black car with tinted windows parked outside the school gates, along with a gang of five black-dressed individuals on BMX bikes. I take cover by a yellow Volkswagen beetle on across the road near the black car.

I take a peek using the passenger windows. “I wonder what’s going on,” I say to myself. I open my communicator. “Activate super-powered listening device.”

_“This is where he’s hiding? Some grotty, old school?”_

_“Are you sure this is the place?”_

_“Of course this is the place, man! I spotted dem last night going into dat house on Maple Road. And I spotted dem leaving early this morning and followed dem here.”_

_“You better be right, kid. Because if the boss finds out you’re lying… well, let’s just say that pretty face of yours won’t be pretty when he’s done with you.”_

_“Oh, my days, blud, I’m telling the truth! Look, you want proof? I’ll take a picture of the wallad – he’ll be rolling with dat scruffy-looking blond kid with curly hair. Then you’ll know it’s him.”_

Blond kid with curly hair? Does he mean… Oscar? What’s he got to do with this?

_“Fine by us, kid. Just make sure you send the picture to the boss.”_

_“Hey, we better get out of here – and quick. There’s a terrifying-looking woman heading this way.”_

Aunt Hermione – she’s the fiercer than fierce.

The engine of the black car starts and takes off in one direction, while the bikers go the opposite way before Aunt Hermione reaches the gates. She shakes her head in disdain as if to say “honestly”, and goes back into school.

I on the other hand deactivate the listening device and send the recording to Zeke with a message of whether he can find out who those people are. One thing I know for sure is that someone in St Hope’s is in danger – Oscar too. And I’m not gonna let those jerks hurt them.

I’m not.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s around 7:00 P.M. when I get to the door of the English room. Oscar and Tom – who’s masquerading as Rome Black – have finished their after-school tutorials. Rose and Carrie aren’t with them because Carrie has got gymnastics training and Rose says that she simply doesn’t need the extra lessons.

The door opens and a crowd of kids come bustling out of the classroom. Oscar and Tom are the last to leave.

“Hey. I thought I could offer my services and drop you two off,” I say.

“Thanks, Frank,” says Oscar.

“So, ‘Rome’, how was your first day?” I ask Tom as we start walking.

“Well, other than getting a ton of homework and getting mobbed by the girls who want my phone number, I say that my first day was A-OK,” Tom replies. “But I think the highlight of my day here is that fine-looking, breathtaking beauty of a schoolteacher that is Jenny Brownstone.”

I narrow my eyes at Tom, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides.

“I mean she is fine as all hell. She is ten out of ten – absolutely drop-dead gorgeousissimo,” Tom continues. “I wonder if she’s single. Maybe when this whole thing blows over, I’ll ask her out. I’ll have to pretend to be Rome’s dad, though. Or stepdad as we have different surnames…”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, To–I mean, Rome,” Oscar cuts in, remembering how to address Tom, “but Jenny is already with someone.”

“Really? Who?”

“Hey, guys!”

My heart skips a beat as Jenny comes running towards us from the English room.

“Hi, Rome. I just wanted to know if you found your first day OK,” she says.

“It was fine… _real fine_ ,” says Tom, eyeing Jenny up and down.

“Grrr…!” I growl. I can feel my jealously starting to bubble.

“Calm down, Frank,” Oscar hisses out the side of his mouth.

“That’s great. I’ll see you tomorrow. You too, Oscar.” Jenny comes to me and whispers in my ear, “You and me, tomorrow on the roof. I’ll bring the strawberries.”

My face turns bright red, my hands relaxing, my jealously fading. “Y-yeah, yeah, OK,” I stammer.

Jenny giggles. “Until tomorrow,” she whispers, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and walks off in the direction she came.

I turn back, my eyes on Tom. He stands gaping at me. He blinks his eyes several times, as if he doesn’t believe what he saw.

“No frickin’ way!” Tom says finally. “You… and her… together?”

I nod. “Yes.”

A smile spreads on Tom’s face. “Nice! I am very impressed. Well done, Frank.”

“Thanks,” I smile.

Soon, Tom is asking me tons of questions about Jenny – does Jenny have a sister (yes), does Jenny know what I really do (no), is Jenny really related to Mrs King (yes – unfortunately) and so on. We come out of school and head for the car park. It’s a clear, cool evening, more like spring than summer.

As Oscar and Tom enter the car, I suddenly feel that someone is watching us. I spin around, glancing around as fast as I can, but there’s no-one around.

“Huh,” I murmur. “Weird.”

“Frank? Is everything all right?” Oscar asks.

“Yeah. I-I think so,” I reply uneasily.

I climb into the car and start the engine. I back out of the school and head the car to the safe house.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It’s been two days since I sent that recorded conversation of those thugs outside the school to Zeke and he still hasn’t replied.

The situation is getting semi-serious. During the past two days, the same gang that I saw before have started hanging around the school gates – usually during lesson time and after school. Aunt Hermione has tried to scare them off, but they keep coming back. Whoever this gang want at the school is in serious danger. The worst thing I don’t know who the person is.

Eventually, Aunt Hermione had threaten to called the police on the gang and it seems that the threat has sunken in because when I get to school on Friday, there is no-one hanging around at the gates. No BMX bikes, no loud music, no empty Coke cans and discard Kentucky Chicken cartons – nothing. I know I should be glad that those hooded thugs are gone but something tells me that they’re still after someone in the school and their superiors – the people in the black car – told them to stand down. I (unsuccessfully) shake that feeling and head to the gym for PE.

After the lesson, when everyone is having a shower, my communicator beeps. Finally! Zeke decides to call after three days. I take the call outside the gym, glancing around to make sure there’s no-one around.

“You certainly took your time to answer a message I sent to you three days ago. What happened?” I ask.

“Well, hello to you, too!” Zeke exclaims sarcastically.

“Sorry. Hello, Zeke.”

“That’s better. Anyway, sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been currently working on a super-slick turbo-powered wheelchair that can float on water. It still early days, though. Moving on, I heard the recording and it’s not good news.”

“Do you know who those people are?”

“I’m afraid so. The voices on that recording are Skippy Beretta and Freddy Patucci – the two fourths of the most dangerous criminal organization in London, the _Cuatro Jinetes_. Or in English, the Four Horsemen. The group involves those two guys, Rizzo Montana and their leader and crime boss Julio Vargas. They are said to be involved in drug trafficking, extortion, security fraud, gambling, as well as been linked to murders and they often use Afro-Caribbean men – Yardie gangs/hoodie gangs – as muscle to influence informants and rival criminals. Whoever the Horsemen want at St Hope’s is what David Walliams was doing for charity when he swam the Thames – in deep shit!”

“One of the hoodies said that the person hangs around with Oscar Cole – one of my students.”

“You mean this person?” A photo appears on the communicator screen. It’s Frank, Oscar and… Rome Black! “This photo was taken on a Tuesday night and has been on the Internet since Wednesday.”

“That’s Rome Black,” I say. “He just transferred here from St Michael’s a couple of days ago because of a rat infestation.”

There’s quick typing from Zeke. “Well, this is weird. There’s no such person called Rome Black on St Michael’s school records. Even weirder than that, there is no rat infestation going on at St Michael’s.”

“That means that the Horsemen are after Rome.”

“Don’t you mean Tom Stone? I just ran an analysis on the photograph and it seems that not only did Mr. Stone change his name, but also his outer appearance. This is what the guy actually looks like.”

A headshot photograph appears on the screen. I gasp as I stare at handsome, twenty-something of picture Rome or Tom or whoever he is.

“This is incredible!” I say. “In this photo, he’s in his twenties but in the other photo with Frank and Oscar, he’s a fifteen-year-old boy. How is this possible?”

“I give you two letters and a number: MI9,” says Zeke. “They must have used a gadget or a mixture on this guy to change his appearance so the Horsemen won’t recognise him. But now they know where he is…”

“He’s in serious danger. I’ve got to warn him!”

The bell rings as I hang up on Zeke – right over my head.

I raise my hands to protect my ears.

When the bell finally stops clanging, the double doors swing open and the students noisily hurry out of the gym. I spot Rome/Tom with Oscar, Rose and Carrie and catch hold of him.

“Can I have a word with you, Rome – in private?” I ask.

“Oh, well… OK,” he says, looking at Oscar, Rose and Carrie, then at me again.

“It’s OK, we’ll wait outside for you,” says Oscar.

I take Rome/Tom’s arm and steer him back into the gym to the blue mats in the far corner, indicating for him to sit with a nod of my head.

“Listen, I’m not gonna beat around the bush, so I’m just gonna come out and say it,” I say. “I know you’re not Rome Black.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Huh? W-what are you talking about?” he stammers.

“Your name is not Rome Black,” I repeat. “Your real name is Tom Stone.”

Tom stares at me. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. “How-how did you find out?” he finally asks.

“I had a friend run your name in the school records of St Michael’s – no-one in that school goes by that name,” I say. “The transfer and the pest problem were a cover concocted by MI9, wasn’t it? As well as whatever it was to make you younger.”

Tom nods. He sighs. “I might as well tell you. My name _is_ Tom Stone. I’m actually twenty-seven and I come from Hammersmith. I’m in witness protection because… because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“Something that involves the Four Horsemen?” Before he can reply, I say, “I know who the Horsemen are and I know that they’re after you, Tom. I also know that they know where you are – over the past few days, they’ve been using hoodie gangs to keep watch of you. I’ve seen them hanging outside the school gates.”

“What?! How do they know where I am? I’m disguised as a fifteen-year-old boy!”

“The Hoodies must have been following you from wherever you’ve been living to here. You’ve got to get hold of MI9 and let them know that the Horsemen know where you are.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right! I better jump to it,” Tom says, standing up. “Um, listen… about you finding out about me…”

I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow at Tom. “What about you, _Rome_?”

Tom flashes me an irresistible smile. “Thanks, Jen. Frank’s lucky to have you.”

I blush as I watch Tom leave the gym… only to hear his cries seconds later.

“Tom?” I call.

“Help! Help me, Jen!” he screams.

I race out of the gym to find Rose, Oscar and Carrie lying on the floor. They’re OK – just sedated.

“Jen!” Tom cries.

I head for the playground, where two suited men are carrying Tom by the elbows and heading for the black car parked at the gates – the Horsemen! I start running again and gain enough forward momentum that I do a flying kick to the back of the man on the right’s head, causing him to stumble to the ground. His partner turns to me, but I punch him in the stomach and give him an uppercut.

While the two Horsemen groan in pain, I haul Tom upright and tell him to get help.

“But what about you?” he asks.

“I’ll hold them off,” I say. “Now go!”

Tom does what I say and goes back into the school. As the two Horsemen pick themselves up and dust themselves off, I go into a defensive posture. The man who I kicked in the back of the head is quite darkly handsome, with wavy black hair hanging loose, framing his face and flashing brown eyes. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a black shirt and a small leather pouch hanging on a leather string around his neck. His partner is tall, blond and athletic-looking, wearing a dark grey suit and a crisp white shirt.

The blue-suited Horsemen angrily growls. “You’re gonna pay for that, you bitch!”

“Bring it on!” I say and start charging towards them. But before I can lay a finger on them, the grey-suited Horsemen brings out a small, blue cylindrical bottle and sprays it on my face. I slow down, suddenly feeling dizzy. I drop to my knees and fall sideways to the ground.

And then everything goes black…

**(Frank’s POV)**

“That’s excellent news, Ma’am! I’ll let him know,” I say. I hang up and rush out of HQ to find Tom.

The Head of MI9 just called me to tell me that the court date for Vargas has been set for next week Monday. Meaning that Tom will testify against Vargas and his boys then go back to his normal life.

I step out of the caretaker storage cupboard and into the corridor, where I bump right into Tom. I’m about to tell him the good news when I see the solemn look on his face.

“Tom? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“The Horsemen! They’re here at St Hope’s!” he tells me breathlessly. “They know I’m here.”

“What?!” I murmur. “Where are Rose, Carrie and Oscar?”

“Unconscious. The Horsemen must have used something to knock them out. But you’ve got to come with me right now! Jenny needs help…”

“ _Jenny_?” I cry, widening my eyes in shock.

“We have to go help her – _now_!”

I race after Tom as he sprints through the school. He leads me through the corridor, down the stairs and out through the doors to the playground. I stop suddenly at the bottom of the steps to see two members of the Horsemen bundle Jenny in the back seat of a black car.

“No! Jenny!” I shout.

I run full speed across the playground to the black car, but the Horsemen jump in the car and take off before I can reach it.

“No! No! No!” I cry. I skid to a halt in the middle of the road, watching in dismay as the car rounds a corner at the end of the road. “Jenny…” I say weakly.

I hear footsteps approach me, but I don’t move – I don’t even turn my head. I still stare at the corner that the car turned.

“Frank, what’s going on? What’s happened?” I hear Rose ask.

“They’ve taken her,” I say numbly. “They’ve taken Jenny.”

“Who’s taken Jenny?”

I feel as if I’d swallowed a wad of chewing gum and it has gotten stuck in my throat.

“Frank!”

“The Horsemen,” I say finally. “The Horsemen have got Jenny.”


	23. Reservoir Horsemen

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Mmmm…” I moan as I come to. I want to rub my eyes, but my hands are tied behind my back. “Great,” I mutter sarcastically. What is it with bad guys and their sexual bondage fantasies? Wait a minute. Bad guys? Bondage? Unknown location? I finally wake up with a jump as I remember. “The Four Horsemen – that’s right!” They were after Tom but I saved him and got him to safety. I wanted to lay some hurt on those jerks but they conked me out with that knock-out spray.

And now I’m here… wherever this is.

I look around. Looks like I’m in a warehouse – it looks as if it has been empty for years. It’s old, crumbling and derelict, with a rank smell. Big brambles and dead ivy cling to the walls and white, flowering weeds are growing among the stone floor. There are empty bottles, crushed cans of beverage and McDonald’s cartons chucked all over the place, and all kinds of freebie newspapers and advertising bumpf littering the floor. There are some doors that are locked and bolted and boarded over and the windows have either cracked glass, broken or missing from the frames. The only furniture in the room is the chair I’m on and a red velvet sofa… with mud all over it. The Horsemen sure know how to pick a location.

I let out a startled gasp as the double doors in the far end of the room swings open with a loud creak. Light pouring in.

The sun is in my eyes. Seeing light for the first time in what feels like forever has sent up a bright reflection. I turn my eyes away, shutting them to shield them from the sun. I open them again when I hear the doors shut. I turn back to see who has come into the warehouse. My eyes widen and I let out a gasp.

_Cuatro Jinetes_.

The Four Horsemen.

They walk towards me like in the opening sequence of _Reservoir Dogs_. In my head, I’m imagining that they’re walking in slow-motion, while ‘Little Green Bag’ by the George Baker Selection is playing in the background.

From right to left, you’ve got the blond, grey-suited Horseman who knocked me out with the spray, the handsome wavy-haired, blue-suited Horseman that I kicked in the back of the head. The next Horseman is a foot taller than the blond man, and powerfully built and is older than everyone, with an olive complexion, slicked back dark brown hair and light brown eyes, wearing a black suit with a purple shirt. The last Horseman is about three inches shorter than the older man and slim, with short, spiky black hair and light blue eyes. He’s wearing a burgundy suit jacket, black trousers and a black shirt.

The Horsemen stop three feet away from me. The older man frowns and narrows his eyes at me. He steps forward towards me. He stops and locks his eyes on mine; studying my face. I sit perfectly still and I don’t say anything.

“Hmmmm,” the older Horseman says thoughtfully. “Freddy?” he calls, motioning for the man to come to him.

“Yes, boss?” says the blue-suited man, coming to his boss’s side. So the man examining me like a case study object is the notorious Julio Vargas, leader of the Four Horsemen.

“Would you like to explain to me why there’s a woman tied to this chair rather than the person I actually wanted?” Vargas asks Freddy.

“Um… well… you see, boss… Skips and I did capture the boy and w-we were about to load him in the car, but-but the girl interfered a-and she attacked us, making us lose the boy in the process,” Freddy nervously explains. “The girl was about to attack us again, but Skips brought out the Knock-Out Spray you provided for us and used it to… you know… knock her out. S-so we loaded _her_ into the car and brought her here.”

I listen to the heavy silence after Freddy finish explaining.

Vargas crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. What was Vargas going to do? Is he gonna yell at his henchman? Is he gonna beat him to a pulp? Or is he gonna shoot him?

He lets out a sigh that breaks the silence. “That would explain you and Skippy were so nervous when I arrived here,” says Vargas. He opens his eyes. “I must admit you have good taste. This is one exquisite creature of a woman. Good job, Fred.”

Freddy looks very relieved and goes back to where he stood.

Vargas gives me a thin, slow smile. “I must apologize for what my men did,” he offers. “I hope they weren’t rough with you.”

“Didn’t feel a thing,” I say in a sarcastic tone.

Vargas chuckles. “So tell me, pretty one, what is your name?”

“It’s Go Fuck Yourself, A-hole.” My voice gets steely. “I’m not telling you anything – not my name, about the boy you’re after, nothing!”

“Hey! Don’t you dare talk to the boss like that!” the man with the burgundy jacket shouts. “Don’t you know who he is?”

Vargas turns to him. “Rizzo, Rizzo, calm down. It’s all right.” He turns back to me. “Again, apologies for that little outburst my colleague made. And you’re right. You don’t need to tell me your name.”

“I… I don’t?” I ask.

“Of course not. I really don’t care what your name is. I mean after all, I am going to kill you.”

I stare at Vargas and let out a nervous laugh. “Um, I’m sorry; could you repeat what you just said? Because for a second there I thought you said you were gonna kill me.”

“Of course, pretty lady. I am going to kill you,” Vargas repeats, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly. “For three reasons – one, you set my hostage free. Two, you attacked my colleagues who happen to be very close friends of mine. And three, you told me to go fuck myself.”

Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have gone the mouthy route.

“I think strangulation would be the perfect death for you,” Vargas suggests. “I couldn’t beat up such a delicate face and I don’t want bullet to penetrate that beautiful of yours.”

But it’s OK to bruise my neck with large hands or a piece of rope?

“Killing me won’t make a difference, you know,” I say. “You still got that little problem of the witness that got away. He’ll testify against you and your friends and you’ll all be behind bars where you belong.”

“Ah, yes. The witness you helped escape. If he hadn’t seen me murder Ratburn, none of this would be happening.” Vargas goes into a deep thought. After a moment, he snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it!” He turns to Freddy and Skippy. “Fred, Skips, get the laptop and camcorder from the car.”

The two nod and make their way out of the warehouse, while my eyes go wide with horror.

Oh Christ. They’re gonna rape me and put it on the Internet.

As if reading my thoughts, Vargas says, “Relax, little flower, it’s not gonna be some rape fantasy sex tape. I’m just gonna… persuade MI9 to hand the boy over to me in exchange for you.”

“And if they don’t?” I ask.

“Then the boss will kill you,” Rizzo replies.

Vargas nods. “Precisely. And we’ll do it live over the Internet – just so MI9 will become racked with guilt for not saving you.”

I swallow. I’m not ready to die. I begin to try and free my wrists from the ropes – discreetly – as Vargas and Rizzo take themselves to one side to talk about something-or-other.

Once I’m free of these ropes, I’m gonna turn into the Cat and lay some hurt on these dicks. But if I do that, the Horsemen will tell MI9 that a girl that they kidnapped turned into the feline crime-fighter and gave their butts a kicking. It won’t take MI9 long to figure out that a civilian who’s not supposed to know about Tom being in witness protection transform themself into the second most wanted person on their wanted list – I’ll get thrown into jail, too. I stop struggling with my rope-freeing and bow my head.

It looks like MI9 are gonna be the ones who’ll have to save me, rather than me saving myself…

I hope.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been nearly half an hour since the Horsemen kidnapped Jenny. As soon as the team brought me and Tom down to HQ, they immediately began to work through CCTV on where the black car went, while Tom and I sit in silence.

I can’t believe this has happened. I can still picture the two members of the Horsemen load Jenny into the back of their car and speed off. Some boyfriend I am. I couldn’t even save her.

Tom isn’t taking this well either. He’s just staring at the table, silently blaming himself. I place my hand on his shoulder.

“We’re gonna get her back,” I promise Tom. “We’ll get her back and those creeps will be put behind bars until Hell freezes over.”

Tom shrugs. “I still think that this is my fault,” he says. “If I’d stayed and helped Jen…”

“You still would’ve been captured by the Horsemen and they would’ve killed you. You’re lucky that Jen was there when she was and saved you… even if it meant that she had to be captured herself. But we will get her back.”

“Frank… there’s something I have to tell you…”

_SWOOSH!_

I hear the elevator doors open. I leave my place at the table to see who has entered HQ.

It’s Stark.

“Would someone care to tell me how the Four Horsemen knew that Tom was here?” he demands. “Hm? Anyone?”

Rose, Oscar and Carrie sit silently in their seats, struggling to say something, but no sound comes out.

“I know,” Tom pipes up. We all turn to him. “Over the past few days, hoodie gangs have been hanging around the school gates and have been reporting back to Vargas. They must have been following me all this time.”

All of us stare at Tom with astonishment.

“How do you know this?” Rose asks.

Tom blushes. “Because… because Jenny told me.”

“What?!” I exclaim. “She told you? When?”

“After PE. She also said that she knows I’m not Rome Black.”

“How the bloody hell did she find out?” Stark angrily enquires.

“She… she’s got a friend who looked up the name in the school records at St Michael’s and… and the name didn’t show up on the records. After she figured out that I’m in witness protection… I told her everything.”

“You did _what?_ ” Stark temper suddenly flares. “Do you realise what you’ve done? Not only did you reveal _confidential_ information to a civilian, but now, the Horsemen are gonna torture her to see if they can get any information out of her. How could you be so stupid?”

I step in front of Tom. “Hey, don’t take your anger out on Tom. We are all at fault. If we had known about this earlier, we would have increased security and have some of them on patrol outside the school,” I say, realising my mistake in not taking action sooner myself. I knew someone was watching and I did nothing about it. “Also, Jen would never tell the Horsemen about Tom. She would never do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well I do, OK?”

Stark tries to stare me down, then Rose says, “We’ve got an incoming video message.”

“Play it,” Stark says through clenched teeth, not taking his eyes off me.

“Greetings, MI9.” A voice rings out that makes Stark and I call off our staring contest and turn to the computer.

It’s Vargas!

“It is I – Julio Vargas. But I suppose you already know that,” he says. “For the past few days, I’ve been trying to get hold of a person that you have in your custody who saw something he never meant to see. My men were very nearly close in getting the boy, but their plan failed when someone decided to intervene.” The camera moves to the left to reveal Jenny. She’s sitting on a chair, with her hands behind her back. She looks OK… for now. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” says Vargas, going up to her and stroking her cheek, making me ball my hands into fists. “She could make a man very happy one day. But at the same time, she is a foolish girl – for she is the one who let the person I want escape and now she has to pay the price… unless you’re willing to cooperate. This is how it’s going to go down: you have exactly thirty minutes to bring the boy to the abandon furniture depository on Woods Mill Street in exchange for the girl. If you don’t…” Vargas snaps his fingers and a man with a burgundy jacket comes into view and points a gun at Jenny’s head. “…the girl dies – live on the Internet, for everyone to see. So, MI9, who do you value more: your witness or an innocent and very pretty civilian? Your thirty minutes begins now. Let’s hope the decision you make is the right one.”

The video ends with static showing on the screen. We all stare at the screen, not knowing what to say – or do!

“What are going to do?” Carrie asks, breaking the silence. “If we hand Tom to Vargas, he’ll kill him.”

“And if we don’t, he’ll kill Jenny,” says Oscar.

“Even if we hand Tom to Vargas, he’ll end up killing Tom _and_ Jenny,” says Rose. “Either way, everyone loses.”

I lean my back against the pillar, in a state of shock. These is one of the toughest dilemmas I’ve ever come across – either give up the only witness willing to testify against Vargas and the Horsemen for my girlfriend or do nothing and keep the witness, but at the same time, watch my girlfriend in front of my eyes.

I look over to Stark. Even _he_ doesn’t know what to do.

For once, MI9 are stumped for ideas.

“I can’t believe you guys are giving up!”

We all look over to Tom, who’s standing with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“I thought you guys were the best. You could do anything. Instead, you’re just sitting around with faces like a wet blanket, waiting for your friend to die,” he says.

“So what do you want us to do, Tom? Just hand you over to Vargas?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Everyone stares at Tom like he’s lost it – and I think he has.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, you want us to hand you over to Vargas?” Stark asks. “In case you haven’t forgotten, if we give you to the Horsemen, they will _kill you_.”

“Not unless you have some cutting-edge technology to prevent that from happening,” says Tom.

“Oh… I… I don’t know,” I say. “What if you get checked?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. But knowing the Horsemen, they wouldn’t know if a Frisbee was coming towards them unless it hits them in the face. So what do you say, Frank?”

I stare at Tom. He’s certainly up for it – he’s buzzed with energy and there’s fire burning in his eyes.

“All right, I’m in,” I finally say. “Follow me, Tom; I’ve got some gadgets for you.”

I go to the lab and pick out various gadgets from the cupboards and drawers and place them on the table.

“First, we have the Marble Smoke Bombs – can create a thick cloud of smoke for up to several minutes,” I say, giving the bag of marbles to Tom. “Next, we have the X-ray Contact Lenses – allowing you to see through anything.” I hand a clear contact lens container to him. “Finally, the Instant Freeze Cologne – filled with liquid nitrogen, it’s capable of freezing anything.” I hand the final gadget to Tom.

“Awesome!” he says, pocketing the cologne and smoke bombs, and putting on the contact lenses. “But there is the problem of me getting shot.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” I bring out a black garment storage bag from the bottom cupboard and place it on the table. I unzip the bag to reveal a red jumper with the St Hope’s prefect badge on it. “Behold – the Bulletproof Jumper. It looks like an ordinary jumper, but press the badge and the jumper will become sturdy and hard as steel.”

“Cool,” says Tom, pulling off his jumper and putting on the bulletproof one.

“I’ve got the location of Woods Mill Street,” says Rose. “It’s about a twenty minute drive from here.”

“Then let’s get going! Time’s a-wastin’,” says Carrie.

“I’ll arrange some back-up,” I say.

“Don’t worry, Frank, we’ll get Jen back,” says Oscar, patting my shoulder. He joins Stark, Tom, Rose and Carrie in the elevator and off they go.

I hope they make it on time. People’s lives are at stake.

I take out my phone and call for a SWAT team.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Just another two minutes to go until you get to sing with the angels,” says Vargas, looking at his watch. “It seems MI9 has made their decision and decided to keep their witness, while you bite the dust.”

I don’t say anything. I just silently pray that MI9 have something up their sleeves to stop these bastards and save me. If not, then its curtains for me. I can’t believe it’s come to this. This is where I’ll die – in some crumbling old warehouse. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life: get married, have children, swim with dolphins, that sort of thing. I didn’t even tell Frank that I love him – but I supposed he already knows that. I hope MI9 have a plan – I’ve given those agents the best years of their lives as the Cat. The least they can do is help an old friend – even though they don’t know the girl they’re gonna save is their ally.

Vargas comes up to me. “Since MI9 has decided to leave you to rot in this warehouse, are there any last words you would like to make before I steal your life away?” Vargas asks.

I take aim. I spit hard – directly in his eye.

Vargas stares at me, wondrously spattered. “You dirty little _bitch!_ ” he says, backhanding me across the face, forcing me and the chair to fall sideways on the floor.

The slap hurts like hell. My cheek will be red and swollen later… if there is a later.

Rizzo pulls me and the chair up again, while Vargas wipes his eye with a handkerchief.

“Look likes this countdown has been brought to zero,” says Vargas, bringing out his gun, cocking it and pointing it two inches away from my forehead.

I stare hard at the barrel of the M1911 pistol. If I have to die, I’d die with my eyes open.

Just as Vargas is about to pull the trigger, I hear a faint call.

“ _Vargas!_ ”

I freeze, listening.

“ _Vargas!_ ”

Who is that?

Vargas pulls his gun away from me, listening hard. The call gets louder.

“Vargas!”

Vargas turns to Skippy. “See who that is and bring them to me,” he orders.

Skippy gets up from the dry-mudded sofa and leaves to investigate. After a few minutes, the door opens and he comes back in, dragging along with him… Tom?!

What the hell?

“Hey, boss, look what the cat dragged in,” says Skippy, shoving Tom to the ground.

An evil smile spreads on Vargas’ face as he sees his prize. He turns to me. “You got lucky, princess,” he says. He turns back to Tom. “So MI9 decided to go for the better option.”

“That’s right, Vargas. I’m here – in the flesh,” says Tom, standing up.

“Rome, what are you doing? Get out while you still can!” I yell to Tom, deciding to go for his undercover name rather than his real one.

“So that’s what your name is, huh? Rome. Named after the capital city of Italy – my mother’s birthplace.” Vargas struts over to Tom and punches him in the nose while Freddy and Skippy hold him fast. “You have caused me grief these last few days.” He tweaks Tom’s nose as Tom tries to break loose from Vargas’ henchmen. “Hiding from me and telling tales on me.” He wags his finger. “Naughty, naughty.”

“You don’t scare me, Vargas!” Tom snaps. “I’m not like the other witnesses you frightened off or killed. I’m gonna testify against you and your dickhead friends from here to high heaven!”

Freddy and Skippy hold him while Vargas socks Tom again.

“Stop it!” I scream. I struggle to get on my feet to stop that evil bully from hurting Tom but Rizzo pulls my hair, forcing me to sit. All I can do is watch.

“It’s time to say goodnight,” Vargas announces.

The henchmen step away from Tom as Vargas aims his gun at Tom’s heart.

“No, please!” I plead. “We promise not to tell anybody about this. Just stop this craziness!” I cry desperately.

“Don’t worry, Rome. This will hurt for only a second,” Vargas murmurs. He pulls the trigger and shoots.

BANG!

BANG!

“NO!” I shriek as Tom falls to the ground. “Rome! _Rome!_ ” He doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. His body lies motionless, his arms and legs outstretched. Tears start to stream down my face. “You bastard! You fucking, heartless murdering bastard! You killed him!” I scream. “You killed him!”

“And now I’m about to do the same to you,” says Vargas, advancing towards me with maliciousness in his eyes, pointing the gun at me. “To think you were gullible enough to believe me when I said I’ll release you in exchange for the boy. You foolish girl. Ah well, at least you’ll see your friend again in Heaven.”

I bow my head, my tears dripping down my face. I’ve got a runny nose, too, but what does it matter. As I wait for Vargas to pull the trigger, I hear screams and startled cries.

“Oh, my God!”

“No fucking way!”

I raise my eyes to find out what the commotion is. My eyes widen with confusion, my mouth twisted with shock.

The corpse is moving.

Tom starts to slowly sit up. He blinks and closes his mouth.

Slowly, slowly, Tom climbs to his feet. And stares into the startled faces of the Horsemen and me.

“Surprise,” Tom tells everyone in a lifeless, dry voice, so bitter, so angry.

The room fills with startled screams and cries.

“He’s alive!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Rome – are you OK?” I call.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he replies.

Vargas’ expression changes from confusion to anger. “What the fucking hell!” he cries. “I killed you! I killed you, you motherfuckin’ prick! Why aren’t you dead?”

A bitter smile crosses Tom’s lips. He pats the front of his jumper, which makes a clanging sound. “Bulletproof Jumper. Happily provided to me by MI9.”

Vargas’ face clouds in anger. “Get him! I want that son of a bitch dead. Do you hear me? _DEAD!_ ” he yells.

The other three Horsemen pull out their guns and are about to shoot Tom, when Tom drop some smoke bombs, releasing thick white smoke, engulfing the room.

“Hey, what the hell?”

“Where is that little punk?”

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

Coughing, sputtering and gasping for air, I frantically try and free myself from the ropes.

“Don’t worry, Jen, I’ve got this,” says a voice, pulling at the ropes.

“Huh? Rome?” I puzzle.

“Yeah. Sorry about freaking you out earlier.”

“No…” I cough. “No problem.”

I feel the ropes loosen of my wrists and with one final tug, I feel the ropes fall to the ground. Tom pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m wearing X-ray Contact Lenses.”

Tom takes my hand and slowly leads me through the smoke to exit. As we go, I feel a hand slam down on my shoulder. I spin around and through the thick smoke; I stare into the face of Rizzo Montana.

“Lights out, doll face,” he utters, raising his gun in my face. But I grab his right arm with my left hand and with great strength, use my right hand to punch the outside of Rizzo’s elbow, breaking his arm that’s holding the weapon. I manage to grab hold of the gun use the handle to hit Rizzo hard on the side of his head, disorienting him. Finally, I deliver a powerful low kick to the back of Rizzo’s leg that makes him fall flat on his back.

“Don’t ever call me doll face,” I say, kicking him hard in the ribs. “Cunt.”

As the smoke starts to clear up, something bumps into me. I quickly spin around, expecting a confrontation with another member of the Horsemen. “Rome!” I cry. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. You OK?”

“Yeah. You?”

Tom nods.

When the smoke finally dissipates, I notice two people frozen on the spot. Their faces are ice blue and there’s icicles hanging off parts of their body, including their guns.

I finally realize that it’s Freddy Patucci and Skippy Beretta frozen in ice.

I raise a finger to the sculptures. “Rome… Did _you_ do _that_?” I ask.

“Yeah,” says Tom. “They were about to gun me down, but I stopped them with the Instant Freeze Cologne.” He holds up the yellow cologne bottle.

“Right. Well, that’s those two sorted. Montana is incapacitated…” I motion to Rizzo lying in agony. “But where’s Varg–?”

A shot rings out; I drop back and feel a burning sensation at the side of my head. I reach up and touch my temple. I pull my hand back and suddenly realize that it’s blood. Tom drops to my side.

I look up to see Vargas towering over me and Tom, with a sneer, pointing his gun at Tom then me.

I feel Rizzo’s gun still in my hand. I’ve forgotten about it until now.

“It’s time to die,” I hear Vargas’ warped voice say.

I slowly raise my gun hand. It trembles. I can hardly hold on to the gun. I feel Tom slips his hand over mine, helping me lift the gun and together, we both pull the trigger and shoot.

The shot goes wild and hits Vargas in the shoulder blade. With a look of astonishment, he drops his gun. He reaches down to retrieve it, but Tom holds up the Instant Freeze Cologne and sprays it on Vargas, freezing him.

More time must’ve passed, but it feels like minutes to me when MI9 agents and the SWAT team finally burst into the room. Shortly thereafter, everything is becoming blurry. I’m starting to feel light-headed.

One of the last things I remember is Tom holding my hand. “Oh Jenny. _Please_ be all right. You’ve got to be OK. Please please please don’t die.”

Faraway voices blur – shadows swarmed with shouts and movements –

“Jenny! Jenny, can you hear me?” someone asks.

I smile as another person gently lifts my head and places an oxygen mask on my face. Then without any warning, blackness swallows me.

xxoOoxx

When I wake up, I look around. Everything is white and sterile-looking. I try to ease up but the pounding in my head forces me back down. That’s when Frank appears.

“You finally woke, I see,” he says.

He sits on the bed besides me and holds my hand. The look on his face is filled the mixture of joy and concern.

“Where am I? How long have I been here? What happened?” I close my eyes for a second, trying to regroup. “How did I get here? How’d even find me?”

“Well.” Frank sighs. “I was cleaning Mrs King’s office when the phone rang. Nether she or Mr. F was in the office, so I answered and I heard that you were brought into Casualty after you were shot by a gangster. I asked which hospital you were in and whizzed over here extra sharpish.” Frank kisses the back of my hand. “You don’t have to worry about that idiot – after the doctors patch him up, he’s heading straight to jail. So are the other three that were with him. A bullet grazed you. You’ll have to wear that headwrap for a few more days.”

“OK,” I nod.

“You really frightened me, you know. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Frank smiles down at me and brushes my hair back. There’s a knock at the door. It opens slightly and Tom puts his head round the door. The bridge of his nose is covered with a plaster splint. “Um… Can I come in?” he asks.

“Course you can, Tom,” I say.

Tom comes into the room and stands by my bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Tired, but I’m fine,” I reply. “You?”

“I’m OK… ish.” Tom fidgets, shifting from one foot to the other. “Listen, Jen, I… I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything. It’s those dickhead wankers called the Four Horsemen who caused all the trouble. You, Tom, are a hero – you’re the one who’s gonna put those pricks in jail, where they’ll be locked up like the animals that they are. Besides –” I motion Tom to come closer – “you came and rescued me, as well as save my life. If that doesn’t make you a hero, I don’t what will. Thanks.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Tom blushes and smiles shyly. “You’re welcome.”

“We should let Jen rest,” Frank suggests. He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Don’t think about what happened today. Just get better so you can come home,” he tells me.

I nod.

I watch Frank and Tom go out of the room, Tom waving at me. Like we’re never gonna see each other again. And we probably won’t. Especially since Vargas has connections.

After the door shuts, I stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how lucky I am that I only got away with a graze and a swollen cheek. At the same time, I think about what would’ve happened if Vargas hadn’t missed and actually shot me in the head…

I shake my head to dismiss the thought. Like Frank said, I should forget about what happened today and get some rest. And rest is what I need. Rest and sleep. I’ll be as right as rain in a few days.

I close my eyes and I drift off to sleep.

**(Frank’s POV)**

After we leave Jenny to rest, Tom and I take a walk down the ward, where Oscar, Rose and Carrie are waiting for us at the nursing station.

“How is she?” Rose asks as soon as we reach them.

“She’s OK, but a little tired. She’s resting now,” I say.

“What’s gonna happen to Vargas and the others?” Oscar asks.

“Well, Vargas is getting treated after being shot in the shoulder. So is Rizzo Montana – this one for a broken arm and cracked ribs. Afterwards, they’ll be contained in an MI9 cell, along with Freddy Patucci and Skippy Beretta, where they’ll be awaiting trial on Monday.”

“Tom will testify and the Horsemen will be locked up for life – hopefully, with no parole,” says Carrie. “And Tom will go back to his normal life.”

“Actually, it’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“You got to remember, Tom, that the Horsemen have connections with the hoodies gangs. Meaning that they’ll be keeping tabs on you for a while – during and maybe even after the trial.”

“Does that mean that Tom will still be in witness protection?” Oscar asks.

“I’m afraid so. He’ll have to change his identity again and be under government protection – meaning he won’t see his friends and family for some time.”

Tom stands quiet.

“Are you OK, Tom?” Carrie asks.

He nods. “Yeah. I’m fine, really. If changing my name to protect my family and friends so scum like Vargas and his friends can’t get to them, then so be it. It’s like Jen said, I’m a hero. I’m saving people’s lives here – and it feels good.”

I give Tom a pat on the shoulder and smile in assurance. Just then, Stark appears, along with Agent Reed.

“Mr. Stone? Agent Reed is gonna take you to your home in Hammersmith where you’ll pack a bag,” says Stark. “From there, you’ll be taken to a safe house – unfortunately not the one Agent Cole has been staying in. This will be a different one. The location is classified – you’ll know when you get there. But don’t get too comfy because every two weeks, you’ll be moved to a different safe house. And that’s how it’ll be – until Vargas has given up on you. Understand?”

“Yes, Chief Agent Stark,” says Tom. He sticks his hand out for me to shake. “Thank you for having me, Frank. And take care of Jenny.”

“I will, Tom,” I say.

Tom shakes Oscar’s hand and gives Rose and Carrie a hug and a kiss on the cheek, making them blush and gaze dreamily at Tom as he leaves the hospital with Agent Reed.

“You three should get back to school. Even though PE is your last lesson and Jen isn’t there, you better get down to revising for your mock exams next week,” I tell Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

Oscar and Carrie groan, but Rose is ecstatic.

“Come on,” says Oscar. “Let’s see if Percy can give us a ride back to St Hope’s.”

The young spies take off down to corridor to catch up with Agent Reed and Tom, leaving me and Stark standing in the corridor. After they disappear behind the double doors, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.

“You OK?” Stark asks.

“Mmmm,” I say.

“How’s the patient?”

“Jenny. Her name is Jenny. And she’s fine.”

There is silence.

Suddenly Stark blurts out, “I know she’s your girlfriend.”

I open my eyes in shock and snap my head towards Stark. I blush violently.

“I-I-I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer.

“Give me a break, Frank. I know everything. Agent Stewart told me,” says Stark, crossing his arms. “While we were waiting in the car, she accidently let slip that you’re in a relationship with this girl. After that, she and agents Cole and Gupta told me everything.”

“Oh. So… now you know.”

“Yes. It kind of explains why you were so quick to defend this girl – sorry, Jenny, saying that she wouldn’t tell the Horsemen anything.”

“And she didn’t. I told you she wouldn’t.”

I stay silent for a while, watching the doctors and nurses go about their business – wheeling their patients in wheelchairs or stretchers, discussing what medicine to give to the patient or talking to the relative of the patient.

“We got lucky today, Stark,” I say. “I can only thank God that Jenny got away with a swollen cheek and a graze. If she and Tom hadn’t shot Vargas back, the situation would’ve been a lot more serious. I dread to think what would’ve happened if Vargas didn’t miss.”

“Luckily, he did,” says Stark.

“But what if he didn’t? What if he shot her in the head? I wouldn’t know what to do if Jen died. I don’t know how I’ll cope. One thing’s for sure, I would never forgive myself. It’s my fault that she’s in hospital. If I’ve arrived a little sooner before the Horsemen got to her, I could’ve helped her and none of this would’ve happened.”

“But if the Horsemen captured Tom, they would’ve killed him. It was lucky that your girlfriend came when she did.”

“Even if it meant she had to be captured herself?” Stark stays quiet. “I didn’t think so.” I cross my arms over my chest and sigh. “You know while she was sleeping, I kept circling her bed, looking at how peaceful she was – like Sleeping Beauty. I kept thinking to myself: what did I do to deserve a girl like Jen? Why am I with her? What does she see in me?”

“Well, other than the tacky boiler suit and the Harry Potter-style glasses, she sees someone who obviously likes her and thinks the world of her.”

“Mmm, true. But at the same time, I’m lying to her. I make up stupid excuses to her and I sneak around – it’s like I’m having an affair. It’s not fair on her. And now, I’ve put her in danger. It’s one thing to put myself in the firing line, but not someone I love. I thought I could keep my secret agent life and my relationship with Jenny separate, but look what’s happened – she’s lying in a hospital bed. I put her there. Me. On top of that, I just told her that the hospital called the school saying she was in an accident, when it was you, Stark, who called me. Damn it, I can’t do this anymore. I’ve got to tell her the truth – I’m gonna tell her I’m a spy.”

“ _What?_ ” Stark squawks. I nudge him. The nurse at her station and a passing doctor look at Stark. He clears his throat and whispers, “What?”

“I’m gonna tell Jen that I’m a secret agent,” I repeat.

Stark stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you _crazy_? If you tell her you’re an agent, you’ll be kicked out of MI9,” he hisses.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“What are talking about?”

“After I tell Jenny I’m an agent… I’m gonna leave MI9.”


	24. The Unbelievable Truth

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’ve just spent the morning packing up my belongings. You would think that I’m having a tidy up in HQ, but that’s not the reason.

A few weeks ago, my team and I were assigned to guard a trial witness called Tom Stone, who witnessed leader of the Four Horsemen, Julio Vargas, murder Reggie Ratburn. The Head of MI9 suggested that Tom should go into the witness protection program and sent him to St Hope’s – where the team and I could keep an eye on him. To further his disguise, Tom was given the Age-Deceiving Pill – making him look like a schoolboy so the Horsemen won’t recognize him. The plan seemed to go well… until the Horsemen found out via hoodie gangs where Tom was and tried to kidnap him. The plan was foiled by Jenny – until the Horsemen decided to kidnap her and have her killed, unless we gave up Tom. Tom decided to turn himself in to the Horsemen (but not without having gadgets to help him) and rescue Jen. Tom managed to save Jenny, only for Vargas to shoot her in the head – I say shoot, I mean graze. Anyway, before Vargas could finish the job, Tom stopped him with the Instant Freeze Cologne that I gave him. The SWAT team came in and took the Horsemen away, while the paramedics took Jenny to Casualty. It was there that I decided that I couldn’t lie to her anymore and wanted to tell her that I’m an MI9 agent. If I do, I’ll be kicked out of MI9 – which is why that after I tell Jen everything, I’m gonna quit the organization – hence me packing up my stuff.

As much as I loved working at MI9, I love Jen more than anything in the world and I’ll do what I can to protect her – even if it means giving up my dream job.

_SWOOSH!_

I step out of the lab to greet Rose, Oscar and Carrie. I’m about to tell them the news.

“So what mission have we got today, Frank?” Carrie asks.

“Actually… you have no mission,” I say.

“Huh?” The team look baffled.

“If there’s no mission, why did you call us down here?” Rose asks.

“I have some news for you. I sorry to tell you that I’m… I’m leaving MI9,” I quietly say.

“ _What?!_ ” the team cry in unison.

“You’re leaving MI9?” Oscar asks in disbelief. “Why?”

“Well… I thought I'd be in this job forever, but I feel that I have reached a plateau so I am looking for alternatives and new challenges,” I lie.

“Oh, my God. What a load of bull!” Rose exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. “Out of all the lame excuses, you choose that one? We may be kids, Frank, but we’re not idiots. Now how about you give us the real answer.”

I sigh. There’s no point in lying anymore. “All right. The reason – the real reason – I’m leaving MI9… is because of Jen.”

“Jenny? Why? Did she find out about you?”

“No! No, no, she doesn’t know about me… at least not yet.”

“What do you mean by not yet?” Oscar asks.

“I’m planning on telling Jen that I’m an agent. After that, I’m quitting MI9.”

“You’re gonna tell Jen you’re an agent?” says Carrie. “Why?”

“I’m sick and tired of lying to her and sneaking around. There’s also the matter of putting her life in danger. After what happened with Vargas and the Horsemen a few weeks ago, I decided that enough is enough. So tonight, when everyone is enjoying their prom, I’m gonna take Jen to a quiet spot and tell her everything.”

“But what if Jenny doesn’t want you to quit? What if she said she’ll keep what you do a secret?”

“Even if she wanted me to stay in MI9, I’ll still be kicked out for telling a civilian what I do. Besides, SKUL and other criminals are always looking for weakness in MI9 to bring us down and if they use Jen, I’ll never forgive myself. So, it’ll be better if I left to keep her safe.”

The team stand quietly, glancing at one another sadly.

“I’m really sorry, guys,” I say.

Oscar breaks the silence by asking, “You really care about Jen, don’t you?”

I blush. “I love her. With all my heart. I’m planning on telling her that tonight.”

“Aww!” says Carrie, catching herself on Rose’s arm.

“I think you should go for it,” says Rose.

“Rose?” I say.

“You’ve been head over heels in love with Jenny since she came to St Hope’s. And this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. She deserves to know the truth about you. So I say… go for it.”

I glance to Carrie and Oscar who nod in agreement.

“Thanks, team,” I say.

The team crowd around me for a big group hug.

“We’re gonna miss you, Frank,” Carrie tearfully says.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” I reply.

“Do you want us to help pack the rest of your stuff?” Oscar asks.

“Yes, please.”

After spending another twenty minutes packing my belongings, I take one last look at HQ and enter the elevator with Rose, Oscar and Carrie, each carrying a large cardboard box of my gadgets in their arms and we leave HQ.

Everyone squeezes out of the storage cupboard when we reach the top. I take one final glance at the door and I lead the team to my car to pile the boxes in.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I take a break from turning the assembly hall into a party venue by heading to the library. There are not many people around as I enter the library – most of them either have class or organizing the hall, which is perfect as I wanted to call Zeke on the communicator. (My phone has zero batteries.) I head for the very back of the library and call Zeke.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

“Hi, Jen,” says Zeke. “You do realize that you have no mission today – I gave you the day off, remember?”

“I know. I just wanted to tell you that… I’m gonna tell Frank that I’m the Cat – tonight.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember now. You asked me months ago if you could and I said yes.”

I nod.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Very,” I confess.

“You know, you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, I do, Zeke. I have to. Because the next time you hand me a mission and I make up an excuse to Frank, he’ll wanna know what why I keep cancelling on him or he’ll follow me and see me transform into the Cat. It’ll be better if he found out word of mouth.”

“Mm. Well, all I can say is good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“So how’s it going with prom preparations?”

“It’s going great. I’ve been planning this party for weeks, getting everything together – music, food, decorations, the lot. I’ve also called in back-up in case anything goes wrong. I don’t want a repeat of the last time I organized an event. I’m so glad Mr. Flatley let us go ahead with the party, despite the fact that no-one gets their exam results until August. He and Aunt Hermione were over the moon when they saw the results on everyone’s homework and assignments, so they decided to let us have a prom based on those results. I just hope everyone did OK in their exams.”

“Of course they did! Because you believed in them and gave them the motivation that was needed.”

“I hope so.”

Zeke turns to his computer and suddenly, a bewildered expression crosses his face. “What the heck?”

“Zeke, is everything OK?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, everything’s… fine,” he says distractedly. “No way!”

“Zeke, what’s going on? Is it SKUL? Talk to me!”

“Jen, it’s nothing, really,” he says, though he sounds hot and bothered. “Listen, I gotta go – I’ll talk to you later – bye!”

Zeke hangs up before I could ask any more questions. I stare at my communicator, mystified. Whatever Zeke saw on his computer got him taken aback. Maybe someone beat his top score on Cyber Warriors – that one-on-one fighting action game.

Shaking my head, I close my communicator and leave the library, where I bump into Frank, who’s carrying a large cardboard box. “Hi!” I cry in surprise.

“Jen – hi,” he says, his cheeks bright red.

“What are you up to?” I ask, motioning to the box he’s carrying.

“Oh, this? Er… well… Mr. F wanted me to clear out the storage cupboard. It’s loaded with junk and he wanted me to get rid of some of the things we don’t need.”

“Can I help?” I ask, taking a step forward and holding out my hands to hold the box.

“ _No!_ ” he says fiercely, making me jump back. Then he says more calmly, “I mean you can’t. You’re busy with organizing the prom and I’m already finished with what I’m doing.”

“Oh. OK. Well, if you’re sure,” I tell him.

“Very sure.” He looks relieved. “I’ll see you later.” Then he starts down the corridor again.

What is wrong with everyone today? First Zeke. Then Frank. What are they keeping from me? I wanted to pursue Frank but I’m interrupted by Davina.

“Jen, we’ve finished decorating the hall,” she says. “Come and see how it looks.”

I look back down the corridor, but Frank has already gone. I turn back to Davina.

“All right, let’s go,” I say, following Davina back to the hall.

The Year Tens have done a fantastic job transformation the assembly room. The sides of the room have several round tables covered with white linen, and red and gold chairs around them, leaving room in the middle for people to dance. On the tables are red and gold star confetti, and in the middle of the tables are red and gold helium balloons held down by red foil balloon weights. In front of the stage a large trestle table, covered with white linen that will soon hold the glasses, the food and the drinks. On the stage is where the sound system will be. I hired Parker Sutton – Kenzie’s friend – to DJ for us tonight. Also on stage are two seven feet columns that say ‘PROM’ and ‘2013’ in shiny metallic gold placed on each side of the stage. Finally, the ceiling is draped with swags of red and gold material with a large glass mirror ball hanging in the centre.

“Wow, guys, this is amazing! Great job,” I say.

Afterwards, we go back to class and spend the entire time watching DVDs and mucking about all the way up until lunchtime. And since it’s the last day of school, everyone gets to go home early. Except me – I have to hang around for the caterers to arrive. When they do arrive half an hour later, I lead them to the assembly hall where they set up shop. An hour later, Parker arrives with some friends – including Kenzie – to set up the DJing equipment.

After another hour of hard work, the caterers have finished adding the finishing touches to the food and laying them out of the table and Parker has finished setting up the sound system – at last, everything is ready.

“Thanks again, everyone,” I say. “I’ll see you all in a couple of hours.”

I whizz off home and immediately head up to the bathroom to take a blissful bath, filling the tub with hot water and relaxing aromatherapy bath oil. An hour later, after I emerge from the bathroom, Livi arrives. We go to my bedroom, where Livi starts to work her magic. First, after towel drying my hair and using volume mousse on it, she styles my hair into a simple side swept curls, using hairspray to keep the hair in place. Next, she gives me a manicure and a pedicure, painting my nails in a sizzling maraschino cherry red colour. Finally, Livi applies ruby red lipstick on my lips, making my mouth incredible. Then she goes for muted eye shadow in a soft brown and applies black eye liner and mascara. At last it’s time to try on the dress I bought – a stunning navy floor-length, sleeveless dress, with gem stud embellishments to the waist and a plunging v-neckline, teamed with diamante stud earrings. On my feet I wear a pair of silver four-inch, diamante peep-toe, sling-back platform heels that make me taller.

“Frank’s gonna have to carry a little collapsing ladder and clamber up it every time he wants to talk to you,” says Livi, spritzing me with A Touch of Pink perfume by Lacoste. “Or kiss you. There, finished. OK, on the count of three, turn around. One, two, three.”

I turn around and check myself out in the full-length mirror. I look flawless and finished. “Wow,” I start. “I look… incredible.”

“You look _divine_ , darling!” Livi drawls in a Southern belle accent.

“I do, don’t I?” I turn back to Livi and smile. “Thanks, Liv.”

“You’re welcome. Now it’s my turn to get glammed up. It’s only fair that I get to come to the prom with you as a favour for me doing your hair and makeup.”

I can’t argue with that. What she says makes sense. Besides, when she came here, she brought a large handbag that was obviously too big for just makeup and straighteners. After half an hour of straightening her hair and doing her nails and makeup, Livi dresses up in a short black party dress with pink ribbon at the waist and black platform sandals.

“Ta-dah!” she exclaims, giving a twirl.

“Very nice, Liv,” I say, clapping.

Livi goes into her handbag and brings out her digital camera, where we spend the next ten minutes taking pictures of each other, striking elegant poses. At around seven o’clock, Uncle Richie calls for me.

“Jen! Your date is here!”

“Coming!” I call back. I take a deep breath. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Wait!” Livi rushes up to me and adjusts a stray lock of hair and touches up my makeup. “Perfect.”

“Let’s rock and roll.”

Grabbing our clutch bags, Livi and I head out of the room and make our way downstairs.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s nearly seven o’clock when the black limousine that I rented for the night pulls up outside the front of Jenny’s house. Well, actually, Mrs King’s. I stare at the maisonette, realising that this will be the first time I’ll ever set foot in the house. I’ve always seen the outside of the house whenever the taxi drops Jenny off. I wonder what the inside is like.

The door to the limo opens and I step out with a beautiful arrangement of red roses. I nod to Trevor, the limousine driver, and up the path to the house and ring the doorbell. While I wait, I straighten my tuxedo and smooth my hair. The door pulls open and at the doorway stands a middle-aged man, a couple of feet taller than me, mocha-coloured skin, jet-black hair, eyebrows, thick lashes, and a pencil-thin moustache makes his features stand out. He’s dressed in a basic black suit, a crisp white shirt and a black tie.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Oh, erm…” I stammer. “I’m, er, I’m Frank London – Jenny’s boyfriend. I’m here to take her to the prom.”

“Ah, yes, Frank. I’ve heard so much about you.” He extends his right hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Richard King – Jenny’s uncle. You can call me Richie.”

“Please to meet you.”

“Come on in.” Richie pulls the door open wide and steps aside to let me in.

After I shut the door, I follow Richie up the stairs to the first floor and into the living room. The place is decorated is white, cream and neutral colours that match the sofa, carpet and walls, with polished wood tables and chairs and a large widescreen TV hanging over the fireplace.

“Please, have a seat,” Richie offers.

I perch myself on the cream three cushion sofa placed along the wall by the door.

“Can I offer you something to eat or drink?” Richie asks.

“I’m OK, thanks,” I say. I wonder if Richie is anything like Mrs King.

Richie answers my thought by saying, “You don’t have to be nervous around me, you know. I’m not like Hermione or Mrs King as you call her. I’m more calm, tolerant and relaxed, so you don’t need to be anxious with me.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

Richie chuckles at my comment. “I’ll let Jen know you’re here.” He goes to the landing and takes a few steps up the stairs that lead to the second floor. “Jen! Your date is here!”

“Coming!” she calls back.

“She won’t be long,” says Richie coming back into the room.

“I take it you’ll be coming with us to the prom?” I say, pointing to his suit.

“Oh yes. Hermione wants me to be there to chaperone the kids and prevent any inappropriate social, sexual interactions and banned activities, e.g. drug use or underage drinking.”

There’s the sound of voices and footsteps coming down the stairs, and I stand up to greet my girlfriend, but I’m taken aback when Jenny’s sister, Livi, walks into the room first.

“Hey, Frank!” she says, waving.

“Oh. Hi, Livi,” I say.

“I hope you don’t mind if I tag along. You know how I am when it comes to a party.”

“Oh, just get on with it!” I hear Jenny say.

“All right! Geez! Anyway, I hope you got your feet nailed to the floor, Frank. Because you’re about to be blown away when I present to you your date for the prom!”

I nearly fall backwards when Jenny enters the room. She looks absolutely positively stunning! She shyly smiles and walks up to me as I still stand in shock. She smells good enough to eat.

“Hi, Frank,” she says. Even her voice makes me feel positively giddy.

“Hi,” I stammer.

“So, how do I look?”

“You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Jen replies with a smile. “You look absolutely handsome.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, my cheeks colouring.

“And thanks so much for the roses,” she says, removing the arrangement from my arms.

Smelling them, her eyes, piercing my soul, are warm and watery.

Once again, I strike a chord in her heart; the right chord.

“Let me put them in water,” says Richie.

Jenny gives the bouquet to Richie, who takes them into the kitchen.

“Hey, how about we take a picture of the happy couple?” Livi suggests, holding up a digital camera.

“OK,” Jenny says.

Jenny and I pose in front of the windows. I put my hand on the small of her back, while she leans towards me, placing a hand on my chest.

“OK, smile!” says Livi.

We do and Livi takes the pictures.

“Aw, you guys look so cute together!” Livi coos. “It won’t be long until we hear the sounds of wedding bells and the patter of tiny feet!”

Jenny and I blush furiously.

“Hey, steady on, Liv,” says Richie, entering the room. “Let them enjoy each other’s company first before they start talking about their future.”

“Thanks, Uncle Rich,” says Jenny. She goes over to Livi and playfully swats her. “Dummy,” she tells her sister.

“OK, I’m ready now!” Mrs King says, entering the room and adjusting her earrings. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her dress in something that isn’t a suit. She looks very classy in a royal blue floor-length gown with long sleeves and a wrap over front, and silver diamante ball stud earrings. Mrs King looks up and sees me. “Oh. Hello, Mr. London.”

“Good evening, Mrs King,” I say politely. “You’re looking lovely tonight.”

Her normally light skin turns bright pink. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “Right, well, we better get going.”

“Not until we get some pictures of you and Uncle Rich, Aunt ‘Mione,” says Livi. “And a group picture.”

We spend the next five minutes posing for pictures. Richie and Mrs King. Myself and Jenny. Family shots and finally, the group photo.

“OK, I’ve got enough shots here,” Livi says eventually. “Now let’s get going!”

I lead the Jenny and her family outside to the limo. Trevor steps out of the car and opens the door for us. Jenny climbs in first, then me, Livi, Mrs King and Richie.

“Where to?” Trevor smiles and revs up the engine.

“St Hope’s High School,” I say.

As the limo takes us to our destination, Jenny snuggles against me, Livi plays a selection of her favourite tracks from the CD player, singing along at the top of her voice and Mrs King and Richie sit back for the nice, long drive.

xxoOoxx

When we get to the assembly hall, it is bursting with kids dressed in black or white formal wear and dresses and gowns either at the tables talking or dancing. The hall has also undergone a magnificent transformation – it’s decorated with ceiling drapery, confetti, with hundreds of balloons, all red and gold, the colours of St Hope’s. A DJ has set up on stage, and is sending out pulsating dance music with a CD player and turntable.

The hall lights are low. The lights bounces off the giant mirror ball, making the room appear to shimmer and move, as if hundreds of fireflies are floating in the air. The music echoes off the walls, making the floor vibrate and hum.

Mrs King and Richie take off to monitor the party, while Livi heads straight for the dance floor. Leaving me and Jen to weave our way through the packed crowds, trying to find a place to sit. As I pull out her chair, I tell Jen that I’m gonna get refreshments and head for the buffet table by the stage.

The table is filled with cold appetizers, such as trays of vegetables, fruit, cheese and crackers, small sandwiches, dips with chips and tortillas, bruschetta and shrimp. Hot appetizers that consists of mini egg rolls, mini quiche, stuffed mushrooms and peppers, assorted mini pizzas, fried ravioli, chicken and beef kebabs, crab cakes, Swedish and Italian meatballs and chicken quesadillas. As well as desserts such as cakes, pies, cookies, scones, squares, brownies and a chocolate fountain accompanied by strawberries, cherries, pineapple slices, pretzels, marshmallows, cheesecake. The table also holds glasses filled with punch, water, fizzy drinks fruit cocktails, smoothies and juice, along with ice.

As I fill my tray up with various refreshments, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and come face to face with Oscar, Carrie and Rose. Oscar looks very dapper in a smart black tuxedo, complete with a white satin shawl collar and pink boutonniere. He slicked his hair back to complete the look. Carrie looks very pretty in her knee-length, strapless purple flare skirt dress that has lighter layers peeping out from the hem, teamed with strappy black heels and a purple choker around her neck, with her hair styled into a quiff. But I do admire what Rose is wearing – a green halter neck dress that reaches her ankles with a matching bag slung over her arm and strappy black sandals. Her hair is tucked into a tidy updo and she’s also swapped her glasses for contacts.

“Hey, Frank,” says Oscar.

“Hi, Oscar, how’s it going?” I say.

“We’re having the most amazing time!” says Carrie. “This party is off the hook!”

“Where’s Jen?” Rose asks.

“At the tables,” I say. “I’m just getting some snacks.”

“Looks like you might need some help.”

I take the tray of snacks back to the table, while Rose, Carrie and Oscar carry the drinks, being extra careful not to spill any on the floor, the party-goers or themselves. The team join me and Jenny at the table, where we eat, talk and watch everyone have a good time. Then half an hour later, Livi comes over and pulls Jenny to her feet.

“Come on, sis, you’re not spending the whole night watching people dance from the sidelines,” says Livi. “Let’s show everyone what we can do.”

“Fine. But only if Frank comes, too,” says Jenny.

“But I don’t –” I start to protest, but it’s too late. Jenny grabs my wrist and drags me to the dance floor, where Rihanna’s ‘Don’t Stop the Music’ starts playing.

“Just pretend there’s no-one around. It’s just you and me,” Jenny says, moving her body to the beat.

The music is earsplitting and bodies are pressed so close together that it’s hard to stay with one partner, but I do what’s said and start dancing.

It’s like being inside a dark thunderstorm. Or maybe a tornado. Lightning flashing all around. The sound whirling on all sides.

Jenny is a dark figure, moving in rhythm a few yards in front of me, one of several dark figures, shaking and moving inside the whirling storm.

It’s so dark. And it feels so good.

I feel far away. Far away from everyone. Even though I’m here in this crowd in the middle of this vibrating, spinning storm.

Loud voices and laughter rise up over the steady, insistent pulsing of the music.

For a while, I lose myself in the music. As Jenny and the other dark figures continue to bend and move around me, I close my eyes and float happily, dreamily, thinking about nothing at all.

When Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ replaces Rihanna’s track, I open my eyes to see Jenny hovering in front of me.

“Having a good time?” she asks.

“The best!” I say. I grab Jenny and we whirl around on the dance floor.

By the time five more songs are over, we go back to our table and we sit down.

“God, I’m so hot,” says Jenny, fanning herself with her hand. I push a glass of water towards her and she sips it gratefully. “Thanks – I totally needed that! You OK?”

“I’m good,” I say, giving her a thumbs-up. I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a long, luxurious stretch, letting my eyes wander lazily over the dancing shadows on the floor. My phone vibrates. I bring it out to read the text from Rose.

_Have you told her yet?_

I frown at the text but then remember. I was gonna tell Jenny that I was a spy, but I’ve been having such a good time, I completely forgot.

I turn to Jenny and open my mouth to speak, when the music stops and I hear a horrible screeching, whining sound. Everyone in the hall covers their ears until the noise stops.

“Sorry about that, everyone,” says Mr. Flatley, who’s standing on stage with a white envelope in his hand. “Now before I let you go back to your dancing, I wanted to announce the results of who you voted for Prom King and Queen.”

Excited chatter fills the room.

“And the winners are…” Mr. Flatley opens the envelope and pulls out the card inside. “…Jenny Brownstone and Frank London!”

The hall erupts with cheers and whoops, while me and Jenny’s mouths drop open. There’s something I didn’t see coming. We make our way to the stage where we’re given a crown and sashes.

 “Speech! Speech! Speech!” everyone chants.

Jenny approaches the microphone, clearing her throat so everyone settles down.

“Well, this is a surprise. I’d be lying if I didn’t say Frank and I were preparing for this… but it’s still a huge shock. We’d like to thank the entire student body for choosing us for prom king and queen. It is such an honour to be elected.”

Jenny motions me over to the mike. I adjust my glasses.

“Um, yes. Jenny and I are very humbled that you selected us. We would like to thank any candidates for running for the status of school royalty. But most of all, thank you to the student body for voting for us. Thank you.”

There’s a storm of applause.

“All right, everyone, settle down,” says Mr. Flatley. “Now, Your Majesties, for your first duty of elected Prom King and Queen is to take the first dance. So everyone, if you could make some room…”

Everyone clears the floor as I lead Jenny by the hand to the dance floor. Spandau Ballet’s ‘True’ comes on.

Jenny drapes her hands on my shoulders while I hold my hands against the sides of her hips, and we start to sway back and forth to the music. We don’t say anything through the song; we just cling onto each other and dance.

Everything seems to be in slow motion. The music. The dancing. The blink and shimmer of lights on the mirror ball.

I feel like it’s only me and Jenny in the room, no-one else. I imagine that as we dance, our surroundings transform into clouds, while small, star-like creatures cavort around us, reflecting our happiness together. It’s like a Disney fairytale.

When the song ends, Jenny leans into me, pressing her body into mine and meets my mouth with her lips, kissing me gently.

I slowly come back to reality as the crowd applaud our dance and ‘Forever’ by Chris Brown fills the air. We make our way off the dance floor where Mrs King swoops down on us and sweeps us to the playground as we pose for photos as Prom King and Queen – a few shots for the school newsletter and a few more shots for us to keep.

After taking the final photo, Jenny and I return our crowns and sashes to Mrs King. She goes back into the school while Jenny and I take a sit on a bench by the entrance doors to the school. I slip my arm around Jenny’s waist and pull her against me as she cosies up against my shoulder.

It’s very dark now. The purples and greys of the night sky have darkened to black, broken only by tiny pinpoints of white starlight.

“It’s a nice night,” I say.

“Yeah. Look at the moon,” says Jenny, her head looking up to the full moon. “It’s so beautiful. So romantic. I wish it could be like this forever.”

“Me too.”

As we cuddle and snuggle, I realise that Jenny’s right. There’s practically nothing more romantic than watching the stars on a nice night, so consider the mood set – all I have to is pull the trigger.

“Jenny, there’s something I have to tell you,” I say.

Jenny pulls back and looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes. “What is it?” she asks.

I take hold of her hands and take a deep breath. Here goes…

“Jen, from I moment I saw you, you took my breath away and I knew there and then that I wanted to be with you. You’re not like other girls – you’re beautiful, brave, nice, generous and very special. I feel lucky to have you in my life. I just want to tell you that you mean so much to me and I, I…” I swallow, my heart going thump thump thump. “I love you.”

Jenny’s eyes widen, her mouth slightly gaping. Then her eyes darken with lust and she leans forward and kisses me.

I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her too. Her lips are so soft and warm.

After an endless kiss, she looks up at me and smiles.

“I love you too,” Jenny whispers.

My heart shines scarlet like a Valentine.

Jenny leans against me, feeling very happy, and I have my arm securely around her waist. Five minutes pass when Jenny asks if she could get a drink. The gentleman that I am, I tell her that I’ll get it. I give her a peck on the lips and head to the assembly hall to get drinks. But not before I find a secluded spot and do a little dance.

“I’m so h-a-p-p-y, hippy hoppy happy,” I sing as I dance. “I _do_ need the love of a good girl, though I don’t need the love of a bad girl, I do need the love of MY girl Jen-ny – cause I’m so h-a-p-p-y, hippy hoppy happy…”

I stop dancing and singing when I see a couple who look like they’re about to make out stare at me like I’m a madman. I adjust my bow tie and straighten my tuxedo jacket and waltz to the hall.

I can’t wait to tell Oscar, Rose and Carrie what Jenny’s just said! If I can find them that is. I can’t believe the girl of my dreams said she loves me back! It’s like a dream come true. And I know nothing can spoil this magical moment.

Nothing!

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“He loves me, he loves, he told me he loves me!” I sing. I do a little dance on the bench, being careful not to ruin my hair.

I can’t believe he said the three magic words: I love you.

I have to tell someone. I’ll call Livi. No, she won’t be able to hear her phone because of the loud music. I could tell Aunt Hermio… no way! I know! I’ll tell Zeke. I hitch up my dress and take out my phone from the strap on my thigh. But before I can dial the number, Zeke’s name flashes on screen – and it’s a video call. Perfect. I wanna see his reaction when I tell him the news.

“Hi Zeke! How are you? I’m having a great time. The party is by far the biggest, best and most awesome end-of-term event everyone will remember. It’ll be the talked about every term for years to come! Everyone is having such a spectacular time. The most amazing about tonight is Frank and I being crowned Prom King and Queen. Even more amazing than that, he just told me he loved me! Can you believe it?”

His expression is bland.

“OK,” I say slowly. “Either someone’s overdone the Botox treatment or they’re not pleased with the news that I just preached.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Zeke, are you OK?” I ask. “Zeke?”

“Jen, there’s something I have to tell you,” he says. “It’s about Frank.”

I study him a moment, the grim lines that have formed suddenly around his mouth, the flash of seriousness in his eyes. This must be urgent.

“Zeke, what’s wrong?”

“Jen, I’m sorry to tell you this but… Frank works for the government – he’s a spy.”

I sit perfectly still for a moment.

Then I toss back my head and laugh.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… Oh, my God! Zeke, man, you are too funny! You are just _too_ funny! Oh, my God, this is too much for me! Frank a spy?! Hahahaha!” When I calm down from laughing, I notice that Zeke isn’t laughing. “Er, Zeke? You’re not laughing. Zeke? Zeke?”

His expression remains the same.

“Oh, my God. You’re serious.”

Zeke nods. “I am so sorry, Jen. Frank is a secret agent – he works for MI9.”

I can’t take it in. It’s not happening. It’s some crazy dream. All I need to do is blink and I’ll wake up in bed and I’ll tell Frank.

_Frank Frank Frank Frank Frank_

I shake my head, trying to deny what Zeke told me. “No, no, he can’t be. Frank’s a caretaker, not a spy.”

“The caretaker job is just a cover. He’s actually an agent.” He lets out a sigh. “Here’s his dossier.”

My eyes grow wide with shock as a file appears on the screen, showing a headshot of… Frank. His hair is hanging loose and he’s wearing a dark blue suit and a hideous black and white stripy shirt. I fix my eyes on the clothes and frown. Where have I seen that outfit…?

I suddenly remember a few months ago when we were dealing with Randolph Miller – the magician thief, who stole King Athelstan’s chalice at the British Museum and we thought the person who stole a fake chalice was the Magician, but it turned out to be an innocent, hypnotized civilian. I remember when the MI9 agents arrested the fake Magician; two other agents came onto the scene, one of which is wearing the same clothes I’m seeing in the headshot – Frank London!

I can’t believe he’s a spy.

“When, um…” I shake my head and swallow back the tears. “When did you find this out?”

“This morning – when you called me from the library,” says Zeke.

“The… the library?” I repeat, suddenly remembering Zeke’s awkwardness. “How did you find out?”

“Take a look at this footage.”

CCTV of the school corridor appears on the screen, it shows the door to the caretaker’s storage cupboard. After thirty seconds, Rose, Oscar and Carrie arrive at the door. The next bit takes me by surprise. Rose goes to light switch nest to the door and… slides it open?! What the hell? She places a thumbprint on a panel, granting her and her friends access to the cupboard. Oscar opens the door and the three enter the cupboard.

“What the hell…?” I put a hand on my chest to keep my heart from failing me. “Rose, Oscar and Carrie are spies, too?”

“I’m afraid so. They’re part of a project called MI High. MI9 are using schoolkids as undercover spies.”

“What?!”

“After I saw the footage, I ran an architectural structure of the school and on the blueprint, it shows that there’s a secret base under St Hope’s – two hundred and thirty feet underground.”

This is just some crazy dream. Any minute now I’ll wake up.

Wake up, Jenny.

Wake up, Jen, and find you’re dreaming. No, rewind. Back a minute, two minutes, that’s all. Back to Frank kissing me and then – and then and then and then…

…and then I kiss him back and we’ll cuddle under the stars.

“Here’s footage of the team coming out of the cupboard twenty minutes later,” says Zeke.

He fast-forwards the tape to the point where Oscar, Rose and Carrie come out of the storage cupboard carrying large boxes full of junk and after them comes out… Frank! He too is carrying a box of junk – the same box I wanted to help him carry. Now I realise why he was acting so hostile – that box is full of MI9 equipment!

“Oh, my God.” My voice is shaky despite my efforts to control it. “There are spies in St Hope’s – and I’m dating one of them!”

Zeke sadly nods. “Jen, honey, I am so so _so_ sorry. I know how much you like Frank…”

His lips are still moving, but I don’t hear any words. All I can hear is my heart breaking and shattering into a million pieces. I can’t believe that my boyfriend – the person who I just told I loved – is a spy. Not just any spy – an _MI9 spy_. It all makes sense now. All those times he told me that he had chores to do around the school by orders of Mr. Flatley, when in reality, he was working in his underground base – with three of my students! To think I was gonna tell him that I’m the Cat. Oh, my God, I can’t believe I was gonna tell Frank that I’m the Cat…

“Jenny!”

Zeke’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Huh? What?” I mumble.

“I said what are you going to do?”

“That… that is a good question. What am I going to do?”

What am I going to do indeed?

**(Frank’s POV)**

I exit the hall with two glasses of fruit cocktails, happily humming. As I head to the playground. I hear someone call my name.

“Frank!”

I turn to find Rose, Oscar and Carrie coming up to me.

“Looks like someone’s having a good time,” says Carrie.

“You bet I am!” I smile. “One minute I’m crowned Prom King, the next minute I hear my dream girl tells me she loves me…”

Carrie gasps. “No way! You serious?”

I nod.

“Oh, Frank, I’m so happy for you guys!” she exclaims.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“So that’s one part of the news over and done with,” says Rose. “The second part is telling her you’re a spy… or were a spy. Are you nervous?”

“Very. But I’ll be glad when I tell her.”

“Well, we just wanna wish you the best of luck,” says Oscar, patting me on the shoulder.

“Thanks, guys,” I reply.

The team go back into the hall and I head for the playground.

“Milady, I present to you you’re cranberry and pineapple cocktail…” I trail off when I find the bench empty. I blink, stunned. “Eh? Where did she go?” My question is soon answered when I see her walking towards the school gates. “Hey, Jen?” I call. She doesn’t hear me. “Jenny?”

I place the cocktails on the ground by the bench and I jog across the playground towards her.

“Hey, Jen – whoa!” I call.

She doesn’t stop; she still keeps going her steady pace. It’s as if she’s pretending not to hear me.

I catch up to her easily and grab her arm. “Jen, didn’t you hear me call you? What are doing heading out of the playground?”

Jenny stays quiet.

“Listen, why don’t we go back in the school? It’s getting a bit chilly out here.” I try and wrap my arm around her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. “Jenny. Jen – are you OK?”

She doesn’t reply.

“Jen?”

“How could you do this to me?” she says quietly.

“Huh? What did I do to you?”

“How could you lie to me? I thought I could trust you, but all this time you’ve been lying to me.”

My face twists in confusion. “Lying to you?” I repeat.

“Yes,” Jenny replies. “You’ve been lying to me for months and months, thinking that I wouldn’t find out – but I have.”

“Jen, what are you talking about?”

A car horn honks behind us. I turn to find a maroon car is parked at the kerb.

“I have to go. My cab’s here,” says Jenny, continuing to walk.

“No. No, you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” I say, blocking her path.

I see tears brim in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a spy?”

My eyes open wide with shock. She knows? I haven’t even told her, yet she knows. How did she even find out? “A spy?” I can hardly get the words out. “W-who told you?”

“So it is true? You really work for MI9?”

I don’t say anything. I stare at the concrete ground.

“Oh, my God!” Jenny cries, her voice trembling. “So, all this time, in the months we’ve been going out – even before we became a couple – you were working as a secret agent.”

“Jen, I was gonna tell you –” I start, stepping closer.

She raises a hand to stop me. “All this time, I thought I knew you. I thought you were just a humble school caretaker. But it turns out you’re nothing but a fake and a liar!” She pushes me out of the way and starts walking to the cab again.

“Jenny. Jenny, please. Give me a chance to explain,” I plead. “ _Please_ , Jen!” I grab her arm, but she spins around and slaps me really hard across the face. She slapped me with such great force that my glasses fly off my face and fall to the ground.

“You are a bastard – a lying, faking bastard, Frank London. If that is your real name. I _never_ want to speak to you again,” Jenny growls. With tears spilling down her face, she climbs into the cab and it takes off, leaving me standing in the playground with a stunned look on my face.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe any of it.

She’s broken up with me.

Jenny has broken up with me.

I heard footsteps behind me, but I don’t turn around. I can sense the team’s presence a mile away.

“So, Prom King, how did it go?” says Carrie.

“Horrible,” I mumble.

Then she sees my face. “Frank? Oh no. What happened?”

I mumble something even less intelligible to Carrie.

“What? Frank, we can’t hear you,” says Rose. “Tell us about Jenny. What happened?”

“She… she broke up with me,” I say numbly. “She found out I was a spy and s-she broke up with me.”

“Oh no,” says Carrie, covering her hands over her mouth. She puts her arm round my waist and Rose puts her arm round my neck and they both pat me sympathetically.

“Oh, Frank, we’re so sorry,” says Rose. “We know how much you love her.”

“And we know how much you were willing to sacrifice to be with her,” says Carrie.

I’m so dazed, I don’t say a word. I simply sniff. Tears threaten to fall at any moment, but I don’t want them to see me cry.

“Come on, let’s get you down to HQ,” says Oscar, holding my glasses.

Nodding in agreement, the team take me back into school and down to HQ where I spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, feeling numb.

Less than ten minutes ago, Jen and I were the perfect couple. We were crowned Prom King and Queen, and we declared our love for each other…

now she’s finished with me.

She’s left me.

I feel so lost…

So lonely…

And completely heartbroken.

What was the most magical evening of my life is now ruined.


	25. The Impostor

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been six weeks since Jenny broke up with me on prom night after finding out I work for MI9. A whole summer. During that time, I’ve tried calling her, texting her, e-mailing her, even writing letters to her explaining myself, but there’s been no response. She’s kept true to her word: she never wants to speak to me again. I even went over to Mrs King’s house, where she’s been staying – I make sure that Mrs King is out first – but Richie, her uncle, tells me that Jenny has gone on vacation. She’s staying with a friend in Ireland, but doesn’t have an address. But I know what he’s really saying: “She doesn’t wanna see you.” That’s OK – I can take a hint. Let’s face it, I messed up. I should’ve told her earlier. Now I just have to accept the fact that our relationship is over. I’ll have to forget about her. Move on. She’s not worth another thought.

But I can’t forget about her. I care about her. I love her. Rose, Oscar and Carrie have been supportive. They’ve been visiting me after their summer training sessions – comforting me, bringing me food, taking me out of the house every now and again. But no matter how much they try and cheer me up, I’m always, constantly thinking about Jen. I think about her all the time. She’s the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. I’m even thinking about her right now as I’m sitting outside the office of the Head of MI9.

I received a phone call last night telling me to attend an emergency meeting with the Head. I didn’t want to go, but when the person who picks you up honks their horn at nine in the morning to wake you up, you have no choice but to go.

So here I am, along with Rose, Oscar and Carrie, waiting patiently to see the Head. While we wait, I take out my phone and open up one of the pictures I took with it. It’s a selfie photo of me and Jenny – she’s sitting on my lap, kissing my cheek while flashing a peace sign to the camera. I sigh at the picture as it reminds me of happier times.

“That’s a cute picture,” says Carrie, who’s leaned over to see the photo. “When was that taken?”

“It was back in July,” I reply. “It was taken a week before… you know.”

The week before she found out I work for the government.

I let out another sigh. God, I miss her.

I miss her so much.

“Don’t worry, Frank. I’m sure she’ll come through,” says Oscar, putting a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be coming back next week anyway – school term starts again then. She would’ve calm down by now.”

“And once you and she have a talk, you two will be together again. You two were meant to be together,” says Rose.

I nod in agreement. Rose is right – Jen and I were meant for each other. We’re soulmates. I’m not planning on giving up on her or our relationship. I’ll find a way for us to be together again.

“You may enter the Head’s office,” the voice of the young female secretary tells me and the team.

The four of us enter the office, where the Head is sitting at her desk. Stark is also there, too, standing by the desk, looking annoyingly smug.

“Good morning, agents,” the Head begins. “I apologize for calling you in on your final day of your summer training, but it appears we have a crisis on our hands. On Wednesday night, there was a break-in at the headquarters of Barclays, Lloyds, HSBC and NatWest, where their databases were hacked into and accounts of every customer of those banks have been emptied.”

“You mean there’s no money in those accounts?” Carrie asks.

“Precisely. At the same, there has been a rash number of bank robberies committed. Cash drawers have been emptied and safety deposit boxes, thought to hold property worth millions, have been cleaned out.”

“Do we know who’s behind the robberies and the hacking?” Rose asks.

“Ooh, can I say it, Ma’am? Can I? Can I?” Stark says in an excited manner – like a child waking up on Christmas morning asking if he could open his presents.

The Head frowns and sighs, but waves him on.

“The person that’s behind these horribly, awful, atrocious crimes is none other than your friendly neighbourhood nuisance… the Cat,” says Stark.

No-one speaks for a moment.

Then, “What?!” we exclaim.

“Are you serious?” Rose asks. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Stark shakes his head. “Nope – this is no joke. We are 100% serious.”

“But, but… this is the Cat we’re talking about,” says Carrie. “She’s a crime fighter – she’s one of the good guys. Why would she do something like this?”

“More importantly, do we even know it’s her?” says Oscar. “For all we know, someone might be setting her up!”

“Have a look at this.” The Head uses the remote on her desk to open up the cabinet behind that reveal a sixty inch TV monitor. “This was at the NatWest headquarters in Bishopsgate.”

The screen comes on showing footage of the chairman’s office of NatWest. The team and I can’t believe our eyes as we see a tall and slender dark-skinned woman, wearing a slinky black catsuit teamed with a mask and cat ears enter the office and heads for the computer, gaining information of people’s accounts.

“This is unbelievable,” I say.

“And this is the Cat less than twenty-four hours later at the bank vault of HSBC in Westminster,” says the Head.

CCTV footage of a bank vault door appears on the screen. The Cat approaches the door and takes out a pistol-like weapon and aims it at the door. She pulls the trigger and a beam of light emits from the weapon and hits the door, evaporating it entirely.

“No way!” Rose gasps. “Bank vault doors are made of steel-reinforced concrete and are forty-two inches thick – it would’ve taken months to break into the vault. The Cat did it in a matter of seconds!”

The Head fast-forwards the tape to where the Cat comes out of the vault with a sack of valuable possessions – even having the temerity of wearing some of the valuables on her. As she walks past the security camera, she winks at it and blows a kiss at it and leaves the vault.

“I… I can’t believe the Cat would do this,” Carrie says, completely stunned. “We all thought she was a hero – no matter how bad she made MI9 look. Now… now she’s a criminal?”

“But why would she do this?” Oscar asks.

“That is why I called you in,” says the Head. “Our sources believe that the Cat’s next target will take place at the Bank of England. The Bank has the UK’s largest gold vault, which holds around 4,600 tonnes of gold reserves and has a current market value of £156 billion.”

“Whoa!” the team gasps.

“Exactly. Your mission is simply this: apprehend the Cat. I have arranged a SWAT team to assist you with the guarding of the reserves, but your main task is to capture the Cat.”

“And just to make sure that the job gets done, _I_ will be heading this mission,” Stark smirks.

The Head rolls her eyes. “There’s a car waiting for you outside to take you to the Bank,” she says. “Good luck, agents and stay alert – you know how crafty the Cat can be.”

The Head goes back to her paperwork, while the rest of us leave her office.

“I knew it,” says Stark as soon as the door shuts. “I always knew that the Cat was a good-for-nothing, unhinged vigilante – and I was right! Now that we’ve seen her with her hand in the cookie jar, we get to capture her and rip that stupid mask off her face! This is gonna be the best day ever!”

Stark happily walks – and skips! – down the corridor, while the team and I stare after him in bewilderment.

“To see Stark smug happy is one thing…” says Carrie. “But to see him _happy_ happy… that’s just creepy.”

Oscar and I murmur in agreement, but Rose stands quiet.

“Rose? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird?” she says.

“About what?”

“The Cat. She’s been on the scene since 2008 and suddenly – _suddenly_ – she becomes a criminal just like that?” Rose snaps her fingers at the last word. She shakes her head. “I don’t think the Cat would do something like this. Also, how did she manage to hack into the bank’s database and commit robberies at the same time?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I stop when I can’t think of an answer and realise that Rose is right.

“Exactly,” she says. “Like Oscar said, someone must be setting her up.”

“But by who?” he asks. “It could be anyone.”

“I’ll know when I download footage of all the robberies into my Spy-Pod and take a closer look at them.”

“Come on, people! What are you waiting for?” Stark calls from the end of the corridor.

“If the Cat is being set up, I hate to be the person who has to tell Stark,” says Carrie. “Because it’s certainly not gonna be me.”

The team and I set off down the corridor and out of the building, where a black luxury sedan is waiting. Stark slides into the front passenger seat while the rest of us squeeze into the back. The driver starts the car up with a smooth purr and heads the car to the Bank of England.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I come out of the boarding gate of Gatwick airport, carrying with me a large purple canvas bag. Dropping the bag, I allow myself a long, luxurious stretch.

“It’s good to be back,” I sigh, picking up my bag, which appears to weigh as much as I do and follow the signs to the baggage pickup. I walk past a large window. The grey morning haze is lifting, and the hot, white sun comes burning through.

I let out a sigh. Typical British weather – one minute it’s cold and grey, the next it’s warmth and sunshine.

I go down the escalator and follow the signs down another endless corridor. I arrive at the baggage pickup, stopping in front of the baggage conveyor belt and dropping my bag to the floor. Two small yellow cases are going round and around, looking very lonesome on the long, winding belt. Then more suitcases begin to magically appear on the conveyor belt.

After a few minutes, a large purple suitcase appears on the conveyor belt. I drag the case off the belt and, along with my bag; I lug the belongings out of the airport, where it’s sunny and hazy.

“Miss Brownstone?”

I look up to a well-groomed man with the darkest of brown hair, standing in front of a full-size black luxury car. He’s dressed in a clean and crisply pressed black suit, matching tie, with black leather gloves and freshly polished matching footwear, and sunglasses.

“Jenny,” I say.

“Right.” He smiles. I can’t see his eyes. “Zeke sent me to pick you up. I’m Victor.”

I nod.

“These yours?” he says, pointing at the bags. I nod again and he takes my luggage, and loads them in the trunk. Afterwards, he holds the back seat door for me. I nod “thank you” to him and pop inside. Victor slides into the driver’s seat, starts the car up and we pull out.

As Victor heads the car down the M23 to London, there’s a beeping sound. It’s not my communicator as it’s with Zeke and my phone is switched off. Suddenly, the window in the partition winds up. Then Zeke’s holographic face appears on the glass.

“ _Dia dhuit_! Welcome back, Jen!” he beams. “How was the beautiful land of luck, lakes, and blarney?”

“Fabulous. It’s was absolutely breath-taking. Laura says hi,” I say. “So, this Victor guy I’ve got as a driver – is he… good?”

“Victor Bishop is a reformed criminal, having spent time in prison for being a cat burglar and safecracker. But I rescued him from a life of crime when I recently employed him as my chauffeur and handyman. He’s also is a skilled martial artist. But you don’t have to worry about him – he’s as good as gold. He won’t say anything about you.”

“Ah. Good.”

“I take it you know why I called you back.”

I nod. “Someone is dragging my crime-fighter ego through the mud.”

“The person impersonating the Cat has been robbing banks all over London. The person did it in the space of forty-eight hours!”

“Well, it’s obvious that we’re looking at cloning or holograms. There’s no way anyone could rob banks like that in that time.”

“My sources tell me that the impostor will be robbing the Bank of England. The vault, hidden beneath London, contains 4,600 tons of gold bars, worth an incredible £156 billion.”

I give a low whistle. “Impressive. Looks like we've still got a few quid in the bank then, no matter how cash-strapped Britain is. Gadgets?”

“Under the driver’s seat you’ll find a briefcase that contains the equipment for your mission: your communicator, the Jetpack Backpack and the Super Sticky Bubble Gum. I’ve also made a modification on your catsuit. The gloves on your catsuit contain six retractable tungsten claws – that’s three claws on each hand. I call it the Feline Fight Gloves.”

“Awesome.” I reach under the driver’s seat and pull out the black briefcase. I place it on the seat next to me and open the case, revealing the gadgets that were mentioned. “Thanks, Z.”

Zeke nods, but I can see on his face that he’s nervous. Uncomfortable. And I know why.

“Listen, Jen…” he starts.

“Zeke, I’m fine. You’re sweet, but I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me,” I say.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“Yes, I’m sure. All I have to do is stop the masquerading SOB and capture them without being captured myself by a certain ex-boyfriend who works for a certain government organization.”

“OK. Just… be careful, yeah?”

“I will,” I nod.

The hologram disappears and the window in the partition winds down, showing the road in front of me and the back of Victor’s head.

“Everything all right, Jen?” he asks.

No. “Yeah. Everything’s fine, Victor.” I lean my head against the window and look at the bleary cars on the opposite lane.

Here’s me thinking I could forget about Frank and his web of lies, only for me to come face-to-face with him again, as well as Rose, Oscar and Carrie, and the rest of MI9 to stop this little bitch of an impersonator from making the Cat look like the bad guy and stopping them from committing the biggest robbery of all time.

I let out a sigh. I think maybe when I’m done with this mission; I’ll have to turn in my cat ears and gadgets. It seems that being the Cat has not only bought in initial conflicts with the police and MI9, but also complications between me and Frank. It’s too risky for me to stay in London when I’ve got someone I like – or thought I liked – working for an organization that wants my head on a silver platter. It’s far too risky.

So this will be my final mission. After that, the Cat is no more.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I look at my watch for about the millionth time. It’s been over three hours since the team and I, Stark and the SWAT team have been waiting for the Cat – or the impostor – at the vault door of the Bank of England. Everyone is doing something to keep themselves busy with the exception of Stark, who’s super psyche that after all these years, he’s finally gonna capture the Cat – not knowing that he’s gonna catch a fraud.

“Man, this is super boring,” Carrie grumbles. “The things we do to save the country.”

“Or in any case, an ally,” I say. “You’ve got to remember that there’s someone who impersonating the Cat, making her look like the bad guy. We’ve got to stop this person before they brand the Cat a criminal and everyone will turn against her.”

“Frank’s right,” says Oscar. “Annoying as the Cat might be when it comes to saving our cases, the least we can do is help her out and save her reputation.”

Carrie sighs. “Fine. But what if ‘the Cat’ doesn’t come here?”

“Believe me – they’ll come here.”

“Yes! I’ve done it!” says Rose coming up to us. “I’ve gone through every CCTV footage of the bank hackings and robberies, and I’ve got something that proves that the Cat is innocent. Take a look at this.”

Oscar, Carrie and I gather around Rose as she shows us footage on her Spy-Pod.

“This was taken at the Barclays headquarters in Canary Wharf,” she says. We watch as ‘the Cat’ breaks into the chairman’s office of Barclays, sits at the computer and starts typing. “Now look at this. This was taken at the Lloyds headquarters in Gresham Street.” Footage of the chairman’s office of Lloyds appears on the screen as ‘the Cat’ enters the office and heads for the computer. “Did you notice anything strange about the footage?” Rose asks.

I shrug – as do Oscar and Carrie.

“The time and date of the Barclays hacking,” says Rose, pointing to the corner screen of her Spy-Pod. “The time is 1:42 in the morning, 28/08/13. Now look at time and date of the Lloyds hacking.” Rose switch the footage back to the vault and my eyes go wide.

“The time and date is exactly the same!” I say.

“Exactly!” says Rose.

“You mean someone impersonating the Cat hacked into four different bank databases at the same time?” Carrie says.

Rose nods. “The same goes to the robberies. Also take a look at what the impersonator is wearing.”

This time, Oscar, Carrie and I look closely at ‘the Cat’ as she walks towards the computer. Rose pauses the footage and zooms in to the belt buckle. “Look.”

Then we see it.

A small, blurred black-and-white photo of a skull-shaped belt buckle.

“SKUL!” I say. “So that’s who’s behind the robberies.”

“The Grandmaster hired one of his agents to dress up as the Cat to commit the crimes, making us believe that it was the real Cat that did it,” says Oscar.

“Right,” says Rose.

“But how can this SKUL agent commit the robberies simultaneously?” Carrie asks.

There’s a sound coming from the elevator at the end of the corridor that makes everyone stop and look up.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” I say.

“OK, everyone, this is it,” says Stark. “Men, take your positions.”

The SWAT team approach the elevator doors, their guns pointing at it, while me, the team and Stark go into a defensive posture.

“Finally, after all these years of grabbing the credit of our cases and making MI9 look bad, we finally get to capture that menace of a crime-fighter, the Cat!” says Stark.

“Actually, sir, there’s something you should know…” Rose starts, but the ding from the elevator stops her.

We wait in bated breath as the door opens. When the door is fully open, I can see disappoint on everyone’s faces, including Stark’s, as we see the elevator empty. One of the SWAT team enters the elevator with caution, inspecting the ceiling to see if the impostor Cat is holding herself there, but he shakes his head.

“Well, this was a goddamn waste of time!” Stark growls. “All this waiting around and she doesn’t show up?!”

“I told you the impostor wouldn’t show up,” says Carrie.

“Impostor? What impostor?”

“Uh-oh, looks like the cat is out of the bag,” says a voice.

Everyone in the room turns to find the fake Cat standing in front of the now evaporated vault door, wearing headphones.

“Hi,” she says, waving at us. But before anyone can do anything, ‘the Cat’ holds up a boombox stereo and presses play, emitting an overwhelming deafening noise that makes everyone, including me, fall to the floor, writhing in agony…

And as I lose consciousness… the last thing I see… is the Cat pressing a button on her belt and… another Cat appears out of thin air… and then I feel nothing, falling into the deep, smothering darkness.

xxoOoxx

“Uhh…” I groan as I wake up. My head is absolutely pounding. I want to massage my temples, but something is restraining my hands from doing so. I look down to find my upper body and my feet tied up with rope. “Damn…” I mumble.

As I blink my eyes to regain focus, I hear moaning. I look up to find Rose, Carrie, Oscar and some of the SWAT officers coming to – they’re tied up, too. I hear groaning. I turn to my left to find Stark and the rest of the SWAT officers tied up, but coming around.

“Oh God, my head is splitting,” Stark grumbles.

“I feel nauseated,” Rose moans in discomfort.

“I don’t feel so good,” Oscar murmurs.

“Me neither,” says Carrie. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Well, that’s the after-effect of the Sonic Scream Boombox for y’all,” says a voice.

“Hey! Who said that?” says Stark. “Show yourself!”

The person giggles. Everyone looks around the room to find out where the sound is coming from. Then, from the dark corner of the room, someone steps out – the Cat! Or the fake one, that is. We should have known that this girl wasn’t the Cat. For starters, the real Cat has black wavy hair and brown eyes. This fake Cat has brown frizzy hair and olive green eyes.

The fake Cat holds up the stereo. “Awesome gadget isn’t it?” she says, admiring it. “It can create tight-focus low-frequency sonic blasts that can shatter every window in a building or render a person unconscious. How neat is that?”

“All right, Cat, you’ve got five seconds to untie us right now or you’re gonna regret it!” Stark snarls.

‘The Cat’ stares at Stark for a moment – and then bursts out laughing.

“Oh, my God! You really still think that I’m the Cat!” she exclaims, wiping her streaming eyes. “Ahahaha!”

Stark blinks. “You mean… you’re not her?”

“No, sir,” I say. “She’s a SKUL agent dressed up as the Cat.”

“Bingo! Give this man a coconut!” says the fake Cat. “Yes, I am the SKUL agent wreaking havoc on the Cat’s reputation by stealing all the money, valuables and gold bars of London.”

“You’re a SKUL agent?” Stark repeats.

“Duh! I just said, didn’t I? Or did you not notice the skull belt buckle I’m wearing.” ‘The Cat’ points to the buckle. “But rather than calling me SKUL agent or worse the Cat, please call me Esmé.”

“So, _Esmé_ , why have you being robbing banks dressed as the Cat?” Oscar asks.

“Well GM – that’s the Grandmaster to you – was getting very pissy by the fact that the Cat was always, always, always foiling his plans, so he came up with a brilliant, super-scorchin’ idea of getting me to dress up as that feline menace and rob banks. And if the people of this great city were to see the Cat as a criminal, they would turn against her and thus, the Cat would skip town, leaving us – SKUL – to pursue any evil schemes.”

“Er, sorry to burst your bubble, but you seem to forget that you’ve got the police and us – MI9 – to deal with,” says Carrie.

“Not when I’m wearing this.” Esmé reaches for her belt buckle and presses the red button. Suddenly, a holographic Esmé appears.

“Whoa!” says the team.

“That explains why the robberies happened at the same time – you’ve got a belt that can produce holograms!” says Rose.

“I give you the Holographic Belt Buckle,” Esmé announces. “And like Ronseal, it does exactly what it says on the tin. I can produce as many holograms as I want. The scientists and technicians down at SKUL created the buckle for the holograms to move freely without restrictions and have direct physical contact with objects and people without disrupting the holographic projection. They also respond to my every command. Watch – oh, Holographic Esmé? Be a dear and help the others in the bank vault?”

Holographic Esmé nods in response and enters the vault.

“Thanks babe!” the real Esmé calls, waving at the hologram. “Those holograms are doing a grand job with stealing the gold bars. Hey, did you know that each bar weighs around 13kg, or two stone, and is worth around £350,000?”

“Man, you are one weird, eccentric woman,” says Carrie.

“Thanks. I got that from my mother. She has schizophrenia, but she’s good people.

“How are you gonna get the gold bars out of the Bank of England, anyway? You can hardly waltz out of the front door with £156 billion worth of gold bars.”

“Oh, that’s easy-peasy. You might have heard of the story of a sewer worker who found his way into the vaults through an old drain that he was replacing. In 1836, he wrote to the Bank’s Directors to alert them, before backing up his claim by meeting them in the vaults. His honesty was rewarded with a gift of £800 from the Bank.”

“You mean there’s a sewer that runs immediately under the bullion vault?” Oscar asks.

“If you move a few of the floorboards there is. I mean duh! How else did I manage to break into the vaults? Right now, there are SKUL agents under the vault receiving the gold bars as we speak.”

“But if you take the gold, you’ll destroy Britain's economy!” I say.

“Per-lease! As if the economy isn’t knackered already!” There’s a ringing sound. Esmé pulls out her phone. “Excuse me, darlings, I just gotta take this call… Hey GM! Everything’s going according to plan. We’ll get the gold to you within the next two hours. Caught some MI9 agents, too – what should I do with them? OK. OK. Uh-huh. OK! Well, see you soon, GM. _Ciao_!” Esmé hangs up and lets out a sigh. “Well, I better dispose you guys.”

“What?!” we say.

“Sorry, gang – Grandmaster’s orders. What he says goes. But don’t worry; I’ve got the perfect painless weapon for this.” She draws out her pistol-like weapon from the holster strapped to her thigh. “Say hello to my little friend – the directed-energy weapon or raygun as many people call it. This gun, when activated, can emit a powerful beam that can melt or evaporate hard materials, say like… a bank vault door.”

Everyone turns to what should be a door, but instead there’s a large hole in the wall.

“Let’s show you folks a prime example of what this baby can do,” says Esmé. “But what should I test it on? Oh, I know! Let’s try the tranquilizer rifles that I – I say I, I mean the holograms – confiscated off the SWAT officers. I’ll just let my assistant get them.” Esmé presses the button of her belt buckle and another hologram appears. “Holographic Esmé, please be a darling and fetch those rifles on the far end of the room.”

Holographic Esmé obeys. She collects the rifles and places them by the real Esmé’s foot.

“Cheers, me dears,” says the real Esmé. “Now go into the vault and help the others, there’s a love.”

Holographic Esmé nods and enters the vault.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, be amazed and feast your eyes on this!” Esmé takes a few steps back, and pointing the raygun at the rifles, she pulls the trigger. A very bright beam of light emits from the raygun and hits the rifles, vaporizing it entirely. Afterwards, Esmé twirls the gun around her trigger finger and blows the smoke away that’s coming out from the barrel. “Awesome weapon, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, we’re going to die,” Stark whimpers. “My God, we’re gonna die!” He starts crying, snivelling and snorting like a baby.

“Chief Stark, get ahold of yourself!” I hiss.

He goes on crying noisily.

“Crikey, this guy is annoying, isn’t he?” says Esmé. “Well, I know who’s going first!”

She points the raygun at Stark as tears drip down his face and his nose goes runny. I scoot away from Stark, not wanting the lethal rays to get me – even though it will get me when Esmé is done with Stark.

“Time to say goodni-ight,” Esmé says in a singsong voice.

Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, I feel a quick breeze brush past me – as well as Esmé.

“What the hell was that?” says Esmé, frowning. Then without warning, the raygun slices apart exposing the wires inside. The same goes with the Sonic Scream Boombox. “Hey, what the hell?!” she exclaims, dropping the items.

I feel the same breeze go past me again. Suddenly, I feel the ropes around by body and feet come apart. The same goes to Rose, Oscar, Carrie, Stark and the SWAT officers.

“Hey, I’m free,” I say, standing up. As does the others.

“What the flippin’ heck?!” says Esmé, outraged. “Who’s doing this? Show yourself!”

“I’ll be glad to!” says a voice. “Deactivate cloaking device!”

Then right before my eyes, at the door of the vault, the person’s body becomes visible. My eyes widen as I see who it is – the Cat! The real Cat. She does look quite cute as everyone has been saying. She also reminds me of something – I’m not quite sure who though.

“Yo,” she says.

I notice the claws going back into the gloves. So that’s how she freed us from the ropes.

“The Cat!” Esmé exclaims. “What are you doing here? How the hell did you get here?!”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the story about the man who got into the gold vaults by way of the sewers in 1836, have you?”

“But there are SKUL agents crawling under the sewers! How did you get past them?”

“By using the Super Sticky Bubble Gum.” The Cat brings out the packets of gum and waves it around. “Those SKUL agents are now living, breathing strawberry-flavoured bubble gum statues.”

“Grrr…!” But then a smile spreads across Esmé’s face. “You may have taken out the SKUL agents and my weapons, but let’s see how you’ll cope with my holograms.” She goes to her belt buckle and continuously presses the red button on the buckle, producing forty holographic versions of herself. “Holographic Esmés, hear my command. Take out your enemies – MI9 and the Cat.” The holograms walk slowly towards us. “And with the other Holographic Esmés in the vault, you don’t stand a chance!” Esmé inserts two fingers in her mouth and lets out a loud whistle. “Holographic Esmés in the vault, hear my command! Stop what you’re doing and join your fellow sisters to take down MI9 and the Cat!”

The holograms from the vault obey and walk slowly towards us.

“Well, I love to stay and fight along with my sisters, but I’ve got gold to deliver,” says Esmé, heading for the vault. “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

Esmé disappears into the vault, leaving the rest of us to fend off the holograms.

“Come on, guys, these are holograms,” says the Cat. “They can’t touch us because our bodies will pass right through them.”

“Actually, they can touch us,” says Rose. “The scientists and technicians down at SKUL created the Holographic Belt Buckle to give the holograms a hologramatic equivalent of a physical body and the ability to interact directly with the world.”

“Meaning they can touch anything without disrupting their holographic projection,” I add.

“Meaning they’re gonna tear us limb from limb!” Stark cries. “We’re surrounded – there’s no way out. We’re completely trapped! What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”

I roll my eyes. I can only imagine everyone else is doing the same.

“OK, I’ve got something!” says the Cat. “We’ll use the Super Sticky Bubble Gum on the holograms, but the Gum is only enough for five people, meaning everyone else will have to fight off the holograms.”

“The SWAT team can fight off the holograms as they’re the strongest,” I say. “My team and I will take the gum.”

“Er, hello! What about me?” Stark exclaims.

I sigh. “Fine – Stark, too.”

“You sure about that? What if he starts PMSing again?” the Cat jokes.

“Oh, will you just give me the damn Gum?!” Stark snaps.

“All right! Don’t get your knickers in a twist!”

I have to stifle a laugh as the Cat holds out five sticks of the Bubble Gum for us to take.

“Go one at a time with the Bubble Gum,” she says. “If you all go at the same time, you’ll be stuck together alongside the holograms and I’m not gonna be here to pull you off them.”

“Where are you off to?” Oscar asks.

“Doing what I always do best – catching the bad guy and saving the day… and my rep. OK, here I go!”

I watch in amazement as the Cat moves swiftly, cartwheeling past the holograms and somersaulting over their heads until she safely enters the vault to find the secret entrance to the sewers and stop Esmé.

“All right, let’s do this,” I say.

The SWAT officers start fighting off the Holographic Esmés from the vault, while the rest of us unwrap the Gum from its packet, pop it in our mouth and start chewing.

“Who wants to go first?” I ask.                        

“I will,” Carrie offers. She starts to blow a bubble with the Bubble Gum. She blows slowly and evenly to make the large bubble. She keeps on blowing until the bubble bursts and the gooey residue inside the bubble sprays some of the holograms, gluing them together, making it difficult for them to move. “Wow, it worked!”

“Nice going, Carrie. Who’s next?”

Oscar goes next, and then Rose, Stark and finally me, blowing large bubbles with the Gum for them to burst and cover the holograms in the pink, sticky substance, but it’s not enough to get the rest of them as they continue to shuffle towards us.

“Looks like we’ll have to take them out the old-fashioned way,” says Carrie as she gets into her defensive posture. The rest do the same. “Let’s go!”

We tussle with the holograms in hand-to-hand combat – showering them with punches, kicks and strikes, but these holograms are tougher than we thought. Every time we knock them down, they just get back up again. It’s impossible to take them out.

“This is hopeless!” says Rose, kicking one of the holograms in the stomach. “We’re never gonna stop these holographic freaks!”

“We gotta keep trying!” says Oscar, punching another hologram in the face.

But it no use. The holograms have backed us into a corner. There’s just too many of them.

“They’ve got us completely surrounded,” I say. “We’re trapped.”

“Oh, my God, this is it,” says Carrie, gripping my arm. “They’re gonna tear us apart.”

Rose and Oscar grasp onto me tightly and I do the same to them, closing my eyes and waiting for the holograms to do their worse. I can hear Stark mutter a prayer to himself that if he survives this, he’ll be a totally different person, a nice person, the kind that’ll go to church every Sunday. My only wish is to see Jenny one more time and tell her that I’m sorry. But that’s not gonna happen, is it? Not when I’ve got holographic SKUL zombies coming to shred me and my team to pieces.

I can feel one of the holograms grab my neck, ready to choke me, when I hear a hissing sound. I open one of eyes to see the hologram staring back at me with dead eyes. It doesn’t seem like its moving – the same goes to the others.

“Whoa,” I whisper, opening my other eye.

“What? What’s happened?” Rose asks.

“Look.”

Rose opens her eyes and lets out a gasp.

“Unbelievable. They… they’ve stopped moving,” she says.

“Huh?” The others open their eyes and stare at the holograms as they stand still like statues and the fizzling sound fills the air. Suddenly, the holograms start to twitch and convulse.

“What’s happening?” Oscar asks.

But no-one answers him. We all continue to watch the holograms move convulsively until they start to fall, only for them to fade away before they can hit the floor. Even the holograms that we covered with the Super Sticky Bubble Gum are gone, making the Gum splatter to the ground.

For a moment no-one says anything.

“S-she saved us,” Carrie says after a long silence. “The Cat – she saved us!”

Everyone starts to whoop and cheer and hug each other.

“She must’ve destroyed the Holographic Belt Buckle,” I deduce.

“This is the second time she saved our butts!” says Carrie. “We owe her big time.”

“I wonder what she’s done with Esmé,” says Oscar.

“We better go down the sewers and find out,” says Rose. “At the same time, we better make sure that the gold reserves are accounted for.”

“The SWAT officers can check for the gold,” says Stark. “You lot see to that SKUL agent and bring her in – the Cat, too.”

“What?!” the team exclaim at once.

“Chief Stark, in case you haven’t noticed, but the Cat just saved your life!” Oscar protests.

“She may have saved my life, but she’s still a vigilante, isn’t she? Undertaking law enforcement without legal authority is considered illegal – something she must be arrested for,” he says.

“But, sir –” Rose starts.

“Now heed my orders, agents – bring in the Cat. No ifs, ands or buts. Got it?”

The team gloomily nod. “Yes, sir.”

“London, see to it that they do their job,” says Stark. “I’ll stay up here and call for a clean-up crew.”

“Yes, Chief Stark,” I reply. “Let’s go, team.”

Stark gets onto the phone while the rest of us enter the vault to find the entrance to the underground sewer. We eventually find the entrance near the back of the vault, where there’s a massive hole in the floor. The SWAT team go down the hole first, the team and I follow down after them.

After we climb down the ladder, where little flecks of rust embed themselves in my palms, we find ourselves in a dimly-lit cellar. The room smells damp and is covered in spiders’ webs and dust… and sacks of gold bullion.

“Wow,” says Rose, going to one of the sacks. “There must be millions and millions of pounds worth of gold bars in these sacks!”

“Guys, take a look at this!” Carrie calls.

Rose, Oscar and I rush out of the cellar, covering our noses as we know how noxious and filthy a sewer can smell. But when we come across a footbridge, the smell is not as bad as we thought. The flowing water under the footbridge combined with the process of decomposition of human waste leaves the sewers smelling more like a barnyard than like a toilet.

I take a few steps for and look around. The sewer tunnelled out in two directions. There are pavements on both sides of the filthy, slimy river, with guard rails along the edges so no-one falls in.

“What did you want to show us, Carrie?” I ask.

“Look!” Carrie points to the walls of the sewer, where glued to the wall are several SKUL agents, covered in Super Sticky Bubble Gum. “Poor SKUL agents – they didn’t stand a chance against the Cat,” she says.

Rose gives Carrie a funny look. “You do realise that they tried to rob the Bank of England,” she tells Carrie.

“Never mind about them, we have to find Esmé and the Cat and bring them in,” I say.

“Question is which way they went,” says Oscar.

“We’ll have to split up – we have a better chance of finding them that way,” Rose suggests.

“Good idea. Rose – you and Carrie take the north. Oscar and I will take south. We’ll meet back here in half an hour if we can’t find Esmé or the Cat,” I say.

We head down the steps. And as Rose and Carrie head up the tunnel, Oscar and I head down.

The air is cool and damp as Oscar and I walk side by side along the pavement of the tunnel. I look at my surroundings. Given its age, the tunnel is badly damaged, bricks are either loose or have fallen out and water is jetting from every crack and hole. It’s like one of those water themed rides at the amusement park, except this water definitely isn’t child friendly. The tunnel is cobbled together with multi-coloured bricks, altered and tampered with over the years. Dates and names are scrawled into the mortar and there are ladders and chambers that lead to other sewers, high level reliefs and basements that are probably long since abandoned.

We’re about half a mile away from the footbridge when we come across two sacks full of gold bars.

“Looks like we’re heading the right way,” says Oscar, opening the sack a little wider.

Then we hear a faint cry.

“WAAAA!”

Oscar and I freeze.

“You heard it too?” I ask.

Oscar nods.

“WAAAH!”

“Come on, let’s go,” I say.

We take off, running at full speed down the twists and turns of the tunnel. Two minutes later, Oscar and I skid to a halt and we see it. A few feet away from us, we see Esmé – glued to the ceiling of the tunnel, covered in an extremely sticky pink blob – the Super Sticky Bubble Gum.

“WAAA! What is this gunk you attacked me with!? Ew, it’s disgusting and gross! Waah, it’s in my hair and clothes! Waaa, you’re such a meanie, Cat! I hate you, Cat! You hear me – I hate yo-o-ou! WAAAAA…!” Esmé tearfully cries.

The Cat is standing on the opposite side of the pea green river, with her hands on her hips and a grin of victory on her face. But the grin disappears from the Cat’s face when she spots us and takes off.

“Call the girls and the SWAT team – tell them to get over here ASAP,” I instruct Oscar. “I’ll go after the Cat.”

I take off again and chase after the Cat. I run and run and run after her, but the Cat is quite the runner – she’s really fast, but I don’t stop, I force my legs to move. One running step, then another. On and on and on, down the tunnels. I’m gasping for breath. My side aches from running. But I keep going. I keep running until I reach the end of the tunnel, where the two separate paths meet, and I find myself at the weir of the sewer. I spot the Cat is attempting to escape via ladder to the streets above.

“Hold it… hold it right there, Cat,” I manage to choke out.

She freezes on the spot, and then she climbs down the ladder. I stumble towards her, breathing so hard, my legs like jelly, my chest feeling ready to burst.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go,” says the Cat.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I say. “As much as we appreciate you saving us and stopping the SKUL agent, you’re still a criminal. Taking law enforcement into your own hands is illegal, and for that I’ll have to take you in. We can either do this the easy way… or the hard way.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“So you’re gonna surrender?”

The Cat stays quiet.

“Right, you asked for it,” I say, getting into a fighting stance. “I’m gonna have to take you by force.”

I lunge at the Cat, but she’s too quick for me and sidesteps out of the way. I try to hit her with a straight jab but she blocks the punch and pushes it away. I try throwing a right hook but she knocks my hand to the left. The same with the left hook – she knocks my hand to the right. I go for the jab again, but once again she blocks the punch and throws me over her shoulder.

“Give it up,” says the Cat. “There’s no way you could beat me, so it’ll be better if you let me go.”

“Never,” I say, getting up and dusting myself off. “I have orders to take you in and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” I throw in some of my best kicks and punches, switching my attacks as much as possible, but she always blocks them. And that’s all she’s doing – she keeps blocking my attacks rather than fighting back. Why, Cat? Why?

I’m just about ready to give up after she avoids my low sweeping kick, when I hear someone call my name.

“Frank!”

I realise that it’s Rose’s voice I hear echoing through the tunnels.

Then I hear Carrie’s. “Hold on, Frank – we’re coming!”

I turn back to the Cat, who’s taken her eye off the ball because of Rose and Carrie. I take this opportunity to cut a quick spin and lash out with a sharp kick across the Cat’s face, knocking her mask off.

When the Cat snaps her head back at me, I freeze. I mean my entire body goes deathly still. I feel a shiver race across my body as I stare at the person who has been helping MI9 for all these years.

I thought I knew it all.

I was wrong.

“Jenny?” I say in disbelief.

She stares back at me, her eyes filled with angst and sorrow.

I can’t believe it.

I can’t believe that my girlfriend… is the Cat.

She moves towards me, her eyes still staring into mine. I’m still frozen to the spot, confused and in shock that my girlfriend is the crime-fighter that MI9 has been trying to catch for years.

Jenny stops in front of me, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Frank.”

The last thing I remember is Jenny punching me with great force across the jawline, knocking me out.

xxoOoxx

“Frank? Frank!”

“Hm…?” I moan. I slowly open my eyes to find Rose and Carrie staring down at me.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Carrie grins.

“What – ow,” I wince. My jaw hurts like hell. “What… what happened?”

“We found you lying unconscious,” says Rose. She looks at her watch. “You were out for at least five minutes.”

“That must’ve being one hell of a punch you took from the Cat,” says Carrie.

My mind races. Then my eyes widen as I remember the moment before I was knocked out that I found out that the Cat… is Jenny.

I immediately sit up. “The Cat? Where is she?” I ask.

“She was gone before we got here,” says Carrie.

“We’ve got to go after her – now!” I start to stand up, only for Rose to restrain me.

“Hey, take it easy, Frank,” she says softly. “You’ve got to remember, you were just knocked unconsci–”

“No, you don’t understand – we have to find Jenny!”

“ _Jenny?_ ” says Carrie.

“ _Jenny?_ ” says Rose. “What has she got to do with this?”

I take a deep breath and I say it. “Jenny… is the Cat.”


	26. It's Out of the Bag

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been ten minutes since I found out that the Cat – the crime-fighter that MI9 have been trying to catch for years – is no other than my girlfriend, Jenny Brownstone. Rose and Carrie were just as shocked as I was when I told them, as well as Oscar who didn’t believe it at first, until he saw the look on my face. Stark was shocked, but very peeved off when Rose told him that she got away. He was about to blow his top off when the team yelled at him to cut me some slack and not to blame me for letting the Cat – or Jenny – go. I mean it’s not every day you find out that someone you cared about is someone who dons on a cat-themed costume to fight crime. So rather than yelling at me to oblivion, Stark casts a dirty scowl at me and gets on the phone to enlist every agent and SWAT officer available to do a wide-scale city search for the Cat, as well as having them at every bus terminal, train station and airport in the capital in case she tries to escape.

In that time, I’ve been staring into space in such a daze. I can’t believe that the Cat was someone I cared about – someone I trusted. She was staring at me in the face this whole time. I think about all the excuses that Jenny came up with when she cancelled our dates and the lies she came up with as to why she sustained the injuries she got. They all lead to one answer – the Cat. This also explains why she dumped me and why she didn’t fight back when I confronted her at the sewers.

I jump a mile when I see a hand waving in my face. It’s Carrie.

“Oh, sorry, Carrie,” I say. “Any news on Je… I mean, the Cat?”

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she gets her arms around me and hugs me.

“Carrie, wha…?” I start.

“I’d figured you could do with one of these right now,” she says, hugging me tightly.

I hug her back. “Thanks.”

“Who would’ve thought that the Cat was someone we knew? Someone who was our friend? Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

Carrie pulls back. “I know what I’ll be asking will be stupid but… how are you feeling right now?”

“I’m pretty much feeling the same way Jen felt when she found out I was a spy – upset, confused, surprised and shocked.”

“You’re not angry at her for lying to you?”

“If I was, I’d be the biggest hypocrite there is because I lied to her as well.”

“Do you… do you still like her?”

I hesitate. “I-I don’t know. Maybe. I mean despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the… how I meant to describe her. Is she an ally or the enemy?”

“I’d say both – she’s our frenemy. Someone who really is a friend but is also a rival. As Jenny, she’s our friend, but when she’s the Cat, she’s our enemy.”

“Huh. Well, given the circumstances of everything that’s happened, I still… I still hold a torch for her. I still think Jen and I can be together, despite the fact that she’s a… frenemy. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

Carrie shakes her head. “Not in the slightest.”

I smile. “Thanks, Carrie.”

I glance up to find Rose standing in the doorway.

“We have to go – now. Stark has got wind on Jenny,” says Rose. “She’s at London City Airport.”

Carrie and I follow Rose out of the Bank of England and into the black car that’s waiting for. After we get in, the driver pulls the car out of the kerb and takes to the airport.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at London City Airport nearly half an hour later. Stark gets the SWAT team to cover all exits around the airport, while the rest of us head for the airport lounge where Jen – or the Cat – is said to be at. When we get there, we find that no-one, other than the bartenders, are in the lounge.

“Dammit!” Stark mutters angrily. “Where could she have got to now?”

“Would passengers for flight NY100 please come to gate number three for boarding,” announces the tannoy.

Suddenly, the red dot on everyone’s Spy-Pod’s starts to move. Jen/the Cat is heading for gate number three.

“Let’s go!” says Stark.

We race through the lounge to gate three, where there is a crowd of passengers waiting to get on their plane. Stark gets two of the SWAT officers to block the gate as the rest of us work through the crowd to find Jen. After a few minutes, Stark comes across a middle-aged man, who is big and jolly with a red beard like a Viking. When the rest of us approach him, the red dot on our Spy-Pods blinks rapidly.

 “Going somewhere?” says Stark.

“Oh aye,” says the man in a broad Scottish accent. “I’m heading to New York.”

“Wrong answer. You’re heading to jail. Finally, after all these years, I can finally say ‘You’re under arrest, Cat’.”

“Cat? Who is this Cat? My name’s Mitchell MacNeal.”

“And I’m Johnny Depp. Cut the crap, Cat. Your disguise is not fooling anyone – from that disgusting beard to that hideous Scottish accent.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Um, sir…” says Rose.

“After all these years of getting ahead of us, solving our cases and sweeping in to grab the credit, I can finally rip off that stupid mask of yours and show the world who you really are!” says Stark as he tries to remove Mitchell’s beard.

“Argggghhhhh! What are you doing?! Stop! Stop tugging my beard! You’re gonna rip it off my face!” Mitchell screams in agony, but Stark keeps pulling the beard.

“Stark? Stark! I think you should stop,” I say. “I think possibly – _possibly_ – that might be a real beard.”

Stark freezes. He looks to Mitchell, whose eyes begin to water, his face is flushed red and he’s sweating in agony. Stark immediately lets go of Mitchell’s beard.

“Ah, me poor beard,” Mitchell gasps. He glares in at Stark, an ugly, menacing scowl on his face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, ya fuckin’ lunatic?!” he yells.

“S-s-s-sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about that, sir,” Stark stammers, hiding behind me. “I-I-I… I thought you were the Cat.”

“Oh, he’s the Cat all right,” says Rose. She holds up a cat head-shaped device. “This was planted in Mr. MacNeal’s hand luggage.”

I examine the device. “It looks like a small electronic tracer – designed to allow the Cat to track objects or individuals,” I say. “She must have planted this tracker on MacNeal to make us think that she was here.”

“Wow. Even as a fugitive, she still knows how to make MI9 look like idiots,” says Oscar.

“So, if Jenny’s not here, where is she?” says Carrie.

The Cheeky Girls’ Cheeky Song starts to play. Stark fishes out his phone.

“Stark,” he answers. “What? When was this? Yes, of course, Ma’am.” Stark presses the end button and pockets his phone.

“Sir? Is everything all right?” Oscar asks.

He clears his throat. “That was the Head of MI9,” says Stark. “She just told me that the Cat… has handed herself in.”

My eyes widen. “What? When?”

Stark looks at his watch. “About ten minutes ago.”

“I… I don’t get it,” says Carrie. “She turned herself in? Why?”

“It’s simple, really. She wanted to distract MI9 by letting us think that she was leaving the country,” Rose explains. “When in reality, she handed herself in so she didn’t want to face any of us, in particular, Frank.”

“We need to head to HQ – _now_ ,” I say.

The team and I, along with Stark and the SWAT team rush out of the airport and jump into the vans and cars parked outside. The vehicles back out from the kerb, taking a while to get out of the airport. Then we turn the car onto Hartmann Road, and head west towards Thames House.

xxoOoxx

Forty-five minutes later, we arrive outside MI9 headquarters. I leap out of the car before the driver can properly park the car and dash inside the building. I head straight for the elevator and continuously pressing the buttons for any of the elevator doors to open. I hear footsteps behind me. It’s Rose, Carrie and Oscar, along with Stark. They arrive the same time one of the elevators open the doors. We all pile inside and I press the ‘LG’ button, as that’s where the cells are.

The lift swoops down faster than my stomach can cope. That’s why I suddenly feel so weird. I get this feeling that the walls of the lift are pressing in on me, squashing me up so small I can’t breathe. But the moment is gone when I step out of the lift and run down the corridor and around the corner, where the Head of MI9 is standing outside one of the cell doors. I skid to a halt in front of her, gasping for breath.

“Are you all right, Frank?” the Head asks.

“I’m… fine,” I gasp.

More footsteps sound behind me. The others have caught up.

“I take you’re here to see the Cat,” says the Head. “Or Jenny as you call her.”

“Yes!” we all call out.

“Well, I’m afraid you can’t.”

My face immediately falls. “What? No. No, please, Ma’am. Please, you have to let me see her,” I plead.

“I wasn’t the one who decided this. It was Miss Brownstone. She requested that you five are forbidden to see or speak to her – specifically you, Frank.”

“Bu-bu-but I have to see her. I have to talk to her. I’m her boyfriend!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”

“But, Ma’am…”

“Frank, if you care about this girl, I suggest you respect her decision.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I can see there’s no point in arguing. And the Head is right, I do care about Jen – I have to respect her decision. With the bow of my head, I turn and trudge to the elevator without another word.

As I’m waiting for the lift, I take out my phone and open up the selfie photo I looked at a few hours ago. I think about all our times together, all the things we’ve whispered and promised to each other and all the kisses – and how special they were. I stare at my phone, thinking about those times. I don’t know I’m crying until the tears start hitting the screen of my phone.

Back in July, Jen and I were in love. We were going to go out for ever and ever, maybe even to the point where I wanted to propose to her. I’ll present to her a platinum and diamond engagement ring during a candle-lit dinner in Paris and I’m guaranteed that she’ll say yes. We were gonna have a big, lavish white wedding, in St Paul’s Cathedral, with white doves flying out of a three-tiered cake and the photographer telling us to say cheese and we’ll honeymoon in the most exotic place – Mauritius, Barbados or the Seychelles. Then a year or two after we got married, we’ll have kids – two or three, I haven’t decided. We’ll have a big beautiful house in the countryside, with a large garden for the kids to play in. And then when the kids have grown up and moved out to lead their own lives, Jen and I was gonna spend our golden years travelling. Australia, India, America – visit every country around the world as we drink champagne and cruise into the sunset…

But that’s not gonna happen now, is it? Not when she’s behind bars and she doesn’t want to see me. Or talk to me.

Why didn’t Jen want to see me? Is she scared that I’ll hate her? Yell at her? Because I can’t. I won’t. Not when I’m still in love with her. I still see her as the girl who took my breath away when I saw her for the first time. She’s still the girl I spent months pining over, who I had my first kiss with, who told me… she loved me.

When the elevator doors open, I drag myself and my heavy heart into the lift. As soon as the doors close, I have a long private weep.

The girl, Jenny Brownstone, a.k.a., the Cat, who I wanted to spend my future with, is now gone for good.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It’s nearly an hour and a half when we arrive at the Bank of England.

“Here we are,” Victor says.

I sit stiffly against the door, my stomach so knotted it hurts. Ahead of me lies the central bank of the UK that holds the custodian of gold reserves, as well as the person disguised as me who wants to steal the gold and of course, MI9 – the agents that consist of Frank, Rose, Carrie and Oscar who want to stop the impostor. I catch myself in the rear-view mirror, looking pale and nervous. This has never happened before. Maybe it’s the thought of being in the same room with my ex and three of my students that’s making me anxious.

OK, Jen, calm down – just take a deep breath, I tell myself. The sooner you stop this impostor and their bank heist without being caught yourself, the sooner you can turn in the gadgets and jump ship, and never look back.

“Jenny,” Victor turns to me, “you OK?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, just a tad nervous, but I’m good,” I tell him. “So, er, how am I getting in? I can hardly go through the front door, can I?”

“Back when I was a cat burglar, there was a story that the Bank of England once had a sewer directly under its bullion vault. In 1836, a sewer worker discovered an opening into the vault, but stole nothing – and was rewarded for his honesty.”

“You mean I have to go through the sewers to a supposedly long-lost tunnel that’s under the bank vaults?”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way.”

I sigh. “OK, fine. So, how are we doing th–?”

A hole in the floor of the car opens to reveal a circular manhole hatch on the road.

“While you were daydreaming, Zeke sent me a map of the nearest sewers that run under the Bank of England – and the nearest one is Walbrook,” says Victor. “It’ll take you three minutes from here to the Bank if you walk or in your case less than a minute because of your Jetpack Backpack.”

“Cool. Let’s do this.” I slip my communicator onto my wrist and change into my catsuit, along with mask and cat ears. “Thanks for dropping me off, Vic,” I say, packing away the Super Sticky Bubble Gum and putting on my Backpack.

“No problem.” Victor gives me a thumbs-up. “Good luck.”

I smile in response and open up the cover of the manhole. Taking a deep breath, I dive in. And like a cat, I land on my feet, not even tottering in spite of my high heels – though I am knocked for six when the familiar sweet fetid fragrance of a thousand toilets, washing machines, bath tubs and kitchen sinks fill my nostrils.

“Oh God, this is disgusting!” I groan, covering my nose.

I set off down the pavement of the tunnel. As I walk through the twists and turns of the brick tunnel, I discover that underground springs apparently flow in the area, and feed into the Walbrook despite the tunnel that now surrounded it. Streams of water come through the brick walls. Some trickle down the sides and others have been forced to spew out between bricks like fountains. There is no way to stay dry as I pass through the tunnel, but I do my best to dodge the water that drips from the ceiling, spurts from the walls, and splashes up from the sewage.

And speaking of sewage water, I look to the bilious green-brown sewer and see something recognizable: tampons, condoms, maxi-pads (sanitary towels), streamers of half-disintegrated toilet paper, and the occasional turd bobbing in the water. Along the edge of the flow, small families of swollen sanitary mice gathering around hulking lumps of fissured faecal debris, their blood stained bodies bathing in vile yellow-brown run-off while their twisted cotton tails flails in the water which threatens to pluck them off the sidelines.

“God, I hope this mission is worth it,” I say to myself.

After what feels like an eternity walking through the tunnel, I come across something a short distance away from me – a footbridge! I squint to see people coming out of another tunnel on the opposite side of the river, carrying large brown sacks. They step down the footbridge, laying the sacks by the foot of the stairs. Then they go back up the footbridge and into the tunnel they came out from. Looks like I’ve found the long-forgotten tunnel to the bank vault.

“Activate cloaking device,” I say to the communicator. My body becomes invisible and I carry on down the tunnel.

When I reach the footbridge, I bring out the Super Sticky Bubble Gum and unwrapping the packet, I pop the Gum in my mouth and start chewing.

“God, these gold bars are heavy!” I hear someone complain. “I’m gonna put my back out any minute. How much do these bars weigh?”

“Agent Esmé says that each bar weighs around thirteen kilograms or two stone,” says another voice.

Agent Esmé? Who’s she?

My question is answered when the two people I heard talking come out from the tunnel carrying the sacks containing the gold bars. One has brown hair, the other with copper-coloured hair. The two men are wearing black uniform with a white skull as their crest. Of course – SKUL. Why doesn’t that surprise me? So, the Grandmaster gets one of his lackeys to dress up as the Cat, rob the Bank of England, everyone will point the finger of blame at me and run me out of town with flaming torches and pitchforks.

“I don’t even know why we’re here,” says the brunette. “Agent Esmé has that holographic belt thing – she can use the holograms to move the gold.”

I knew it! Holograms.

“We’re here because she told us to keep an eye out for the real Cat, just in case she intervenes,” says another SKUL henchman with raven black hair, coming out from the tunnel and joining the others at the steps of the footbridge. “Not that the Cat will even set foot in this filthy, slimy sewage. She’ll probably be crying all the way home if she saw a rat…”

“Or if she got splashed with the sewer water spurting from the wall,” says another lackey with copper-coloured hair.

“Or if she stepped in a pile of shit!” says the brunette man.

The underlings start laughing their heads off.

“Trust me, fellas,” says the black-haired henchman calming down from laughing, “we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

That’s what they think!

As the minions continue to laugh their heads off, I begin blowing a bubble. I blow and blow and blow until it’s the biggest one I’ve ever blown.

“All right, guys, laughing time is over. We better get back to…” the copper-haired henchman stops when he sees the visible pink bubble. “What the hell is that?!”

The other henchmen stare in shock. But before they can do anything, the bubble bursts, covering the men in sticky pink goo.

“Ah, what is this gunk?!” cries the black-haired man. “Get this thing off me!”

“I-I can’t – I’m stuck!” exclaims the copper man.

“Me too!” says the brunette. “Who the hell did this?!”

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud. I use my communicator to take a picture of those idiot henchmen and climb up the steps of the footbridge and cross it. I look at the trapped SKUL minions one more time and enter the tunnel that they came through.

It turns out that this place isn’t another tunnel, but a chamber or a cellar of some sort. The room is small, cold and quite dark, but not pitch black. It’s old and crumbling, and covered in dust and cobwebs.

Suddenly, something hits the floor with a hard _thud_.

I gasp. “What was that?”

I look to the back of the cellar to see a large sack in the corner of the room, with a circle of light surrounding it. I slowly walk up to the sack and open it. The sack contains the gold bullion. I notice the ladder by the gold and bottom of the ladder I look up: a large circle view of a white ceiling – only to be blocked by a woman wearing a black mask and cat ears. She holds a sack over the hole and lets go of it. I jump back as the sack hits the other sack with a _thud_.

“That was close,” I whisper.

I head to the ladder again, looking at the sack that just came from the hole above. Several gold bars spill out from the bag. I gaze back up at the large, circular glow. I’ve found the secret entrance leading to the Bank of England gold vaults.

I grasp the rusty ladder and start up. When I scramble into the vault, I shake my hair back. My eyes are slowly adjusting to the brighter light.

I freeze. My mouth drops open.

In the large marble room of the vault sits the world’s most exclusive cash machine. Though it looks like a regular ATM, it is not for public use. It’s the £156 billion worth of gold bars that Zeke told me about. They are stacked on blue shelves parallel to each other in a stack of thirty-six – well, on one of the shelves that is. All the other bars are being dumped in the bag by the holograms. There are about fifty to sixty of them in the room. I walk through the room, watching the holograms obediently take the gold bars and place them in the sack. Once they’re done, they drop it down the hole – supposedly for the SKUL henchmen to pick up and take them to the sewer.

I wonder where the person controlling these things is.

“Thanks babe!” I hear someone call. I look around the room and see a hologram coming into the room. I run over to the door where the hologram came out and I peer into the next room.

It’s the person masquerading as me – SKUL Agent Esmé. I can see why MI9 thought that was me doing the robberies. She looks like me – with the exception of the wild, frizzy brown hair, the green eyes and the fact that she has the SKUL crest as a belt buckle. She’s even about the same height as me. Maybe a few centimetres taller. In her hand, she’s holding a large red stereo that rappers used to have in the 1990s.

With her in the room on either side is Frank, Rose, Oscar, Carrie, Stark and MI9’s SWAT team – all tied up!

My stomach jumps at the sight of them. Calm down, Jen, I tell myself. Take it easy. Remember the plan – stop the bad guy… or girl from crippling the economy without being caught yourself. I can only pray that no-one finds out about me – especially Frank.

“…Well, see you soon, GM. _Ciao_!” Esmé hangs up her mobile phone and sighs. “Well, I better dispose you guys.”

“What?!” we say.

Er, what’s that?

“Sorry, gang – Grandmaster’s orders. What he says goes. But don't worry; I’ve got the perfect painless weapon for this.” She draws out a pistol-like weapon from the holster that’s strapped to her thigh. “Say hello to my little friend – the directed-energy weapon or raygun as many people call it. This gun, when activated, can emit a powerful beam that can melt or evaporate hard materials, say like… a bank vault door.”

Everyone turns to the door that’s I’m standing at, but instead of a door, there's a large hole. That explains how she managed to break in the vault at all the other banks

“Let’s show you folks a prime example of what this baby can do,” says Esmé. “But what should I test it on? Oh, I know! Let’s try the tranquilizer rifles that I – I say I, I mean the holograms – confiscated off the SWAT officers. I'll just let my assistant get them.” My eyes widen as Esmé presses the button of her belt buckle and another hologram appears. So, that’s how she does it. The buckle on her belt creates holograms. Very clever. “Holographic Esmé, please be a darling and fetch those rifles on the far end of the room.”

I watch as the hologram collects the rifles from the back of the room and places them by the foot of the real Esmé.

“Cheers, me dears,” says Esmé. “Now go into the vault and help the others, there’s a love.”

I stand away from the door as the hologram enters the vault and joins the others.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, be amazed and feast your eyes on this!” Esmé takes a few steps back, and pointing the raygun at the rifles, she pulls the trigger. I shield my eyes from the bright beam of light that’s emitting from the raygun. The beam hits the rifles and evaporates them, leaving no trace of it. _Whoa!_ After she melts the rifles, Esmé twirls the gun around her trigger finger like some cowboy in an old Hollywood western film and blows the smoke away that’s coming out from the barrel. “Awesome weapon, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, we're going to die,” Stark snivels. “My God, we're gonna die!” He starts wailing, the tears inside him gushing like the waters in _Titanic_.

Jeez Louise, what a fucking crybaby!

“Chief Stark, get ahold of yourself!” Frank tells Stark. Oh, my God, that’s what Frank actually sounds like? He sounds so… middle-class!

“Crikey, this guy is annoying, isn't he?” says Esmé. “Well, I know who's going first!”

She points her raygun at Stark, but he doesn’t seem to care. The tears continue to stream down his cheeks and his nose goes runny – gross. Looks like it’s time for me to act now and save everyone.

“Time to say goodni-ight,” Esmé sings.

Unsheathing the metal claws that Zeke installed from my catsuit gloves, I swiftly brush past Esmé.

“What the hell was that?” says Esmé. I look behind me to see the raygun slicing apart exposing the wires inside. The same goes with the stereo she’s holding. “Hey, what the hell?!” she exclaims, dropping her gadget and weapon.

Time to release the prisoners. With high-speed movement, I cut the ropes of everyone that’s tied up without cutting their clothes or their skin. The rope quickly falls apart, freeing everyone.

“Hey, I'm free,” says Frank as he stands up – and so does the others.

“What the flippin’ heck?!” says Esmé, clearly pissed off. “Who’s doing this? Show yourself!”

“I'll be glad to!” I say. “Deactivate cloaking device!”

The look of surprise is on everyone’s faces as my body becomes visible.

“Yo,” I say, letting the claws suck back in to the gloves.

“The Cat!” Esmé exclaims. “What are you doing here? How the hell did you get here?!”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the story about the man who got into the gold vaults by way of the sewers in 1836, have you?”

“But there are SKUL agents crawling under the sewers! How did you get past them?”

“By using the Super Sticky Bubble Gum.” I take out the packet of the Gum and wave it around. “Those SKUL agents are now living, breathing strawberry-flavoured bubble gum statues.”

“Grrr…!” Esmé growls, but then a smile spreads across her face. “You may have taken out the SKUL agents and my weapons, but let’s see how you’ll cope with my holograms.” She goes to her belt buckle and continuously presses the red button on the buckle, producing forty holographic versions of herself. “Holographic Esmés, hear my command. Take out your enemies – MI9 and the Cat.” The holograms start to walk slowly towards us. “And with the other Holographic Esmés in the vault, you don’t stand a chance!” Esmé puts two fingers in her mouth and lets out a piercing whistle. “Holographic Esmés in the vault, hear my command! Stop what you're doing and join your fellow sisters to take down MI9 and the Cat!”

The holograms in the vault drop everything and start slowly walking towards us.

“Well, I love to stay and fight along with my sisters, but I've got gold to deliver,” says Esmé, heading for the vault. “See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!”

Esmé pushes past me and takes off. Entering the vault to the secret place that goes into the sewers, while the rest of us to huddle back-to-back in a tight circle.

“Come on, guys, these are holograms,” I say. “They can’t touch us because our bodies will pass right through them.”

“Actually, they can touch us,” Rose tells me. “The scientists and technicians down at SKUL created the Holographic Belt Buckle to give the holograms a hologramatic equivalent of a physical body and the ability to interact directly with the world.”

“Meaning they can touch anything without disrupting their holographic projection,” Frank puts in.

“Meaning they’re gonna tear us limb from limb!” Stark whines. “We’re surrounded – there’s no way out. We’re completely trapped! What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”

I roll my eyes. So help me God, I’m about to smack this bitch up.

Fine. Time to come up with a plan. Come on, Jenny! Think! And that’s when it hits me.

“OK, I’ve got something!” I say. “We’ll use the Super Sticky Bubble Gum on the holograms, but the Gum is only enough for five people, meaning everyone else will have to fight off the holograms.”

“The SWAT team can fight off the holograms as they're the strongest,” says Frank. “My team and I will take the gum.”

“Er, hello! What about me?” Stark cries out.

Frank lets out a sigh. “Fine – Stark, too.”

“You sure about that? What if he starts PMSing again?” I quip.

“Oh, will you just give me the damn Gum?!” Stark snarls.

“All right! Don’t get your knickers in a twist!”

I can hear Frank stifling a laugh. I hold out five sticks of the Bubble Gum for the agents to take.

“Go one at a time with the Bubble Gum,” I tell them. “If you all go at the same time, you’ll be stuck together alongside the holograms and I'm not gonna be here to pull you off them.”

“Where are you off to?” Oscar asks me.

“Doing what I always do best – catching the bad guy and saving the day… and my rep. OK, here I go!”

I make a break for it. I move quickly, cartwheeling past the holograms and somersaulting over their heads, avoiding their grabby hands until I enter the vault. I run to the opening and climb down the ladder to the cellar. I charge out of the door, and past the SKUL henchmen that are still stuck together with the Super Sticky Bubble Gum. I run down the dimly-lit tunnel, trying to catch up with Esmé and her holographic cronies. I keep on running, my heart pounding, until I see three dark figures several yards up the tunnel. Esmé, along with her holograms carrying to sacks filled with gold bars.

“Stop right there, Esmé!” I call as I nearly approach her.

“Dammit, Cat, why don’t you just by a good little girl and die?” she says. She presses the button her belt buckle and creates ten holographic versions of her. “Now, my holographic sisters, take the Cat down!”

The holograms – including the ones that are carrying the sacks of gold – lunge at me, but I shower them with every kick and punch with all my strength. But they’re like zombies – there’s no end to them.

“Time to get the claws out!” I unsheathe the sharp claws from my gloves and repeatedly scratching, raking and slash the holograms, fighting my way through them. When I do come out on the other, I turn to find the holograms climbing on their feet again even though I went Freddy Krueger on them. “Man, these things don’t quit, do they? I gotta get that buckle off Esmé before she overruns London with these holograms!”

The claws go back in the gloves and I launch myself on the railing that is mounted on the edge of the pavement and run along it to catch up with (the real) Esmé. After a minute or so, I spot her a few feet away from me. I pick my legs up a little more to catch up to Esmé, using my body to maintain balance. She looks behind her shoulder and sees me. She goes to her belt buckle to create more holograms, but I move quickly. Too quickly. As if I’m floating towards her, as if I’m propelled. Before I know it, I’m launching myself at her, tackling her to the ground.

So, here we are the SKUL agent and I rolling and wrestling around in a dirty sewer, over and over. Grunting and crying. I’m on top of Esmé, banging her head against the ground while fumbling to get the belt off her, while she’s gasping, kicking out from under me and using her hands to pull really hard at me hair.

“You cow! Get the hell of _me_!” Esmé shrieks. She grabs my shoulders and placing her foot on my stomach, she flips me over her head.

“Argh!” I cry as I land on my back. “Fuck, does that hurt!” I gingerly climb onto my feet – as does Esmé.

“I’ll teach you to tackle me and make me roll around in dirt!” she goes to her belt buckle – only to find it gone. “Hey! My Holographic Belt Buckle! Where is it?!”

“You mean this tacky thing?” I say. Esmé’s jaw drops when she sees me holding the belt with the buckle.

“My belt buckle! Give that back to me, you thieving little tart!”

Esmé lunges at me, but I stick my head out and ram straight forward at hers, headbutting her. She falls to the floor, clutching her forehead and crying in pain. She watches in horror as I bring out claws from one of my gloves and holding the belt over the disgusting sewerage river, I slice the buckle apart.

“Nooo!” Esmé cries as three sections of the now sliced belt buckle falls into the gross, green river. The sections short circuit before finally sinking to the bottom of the water.

The SKUL agent and I look up to see the holograms freezing where they are, with a hissing sound coming out from them. Then without warning, the holograms start to jerk and twitch, much like if they received an electric shock. Then, the holograms lose balance and fall over – only to vanish before they can hit the floor.

“No, no, no! My holograms! My beautiful holographic sisters!” Esmé cries. She turns to me, her eyes dark with fury. It’s like her body is radiating a red, fiery glow. “You vindictive little tramp! You’re gonna wish you hadn’t messed with me!” She launches into a sudden dash, aiming a blow for me, but I just manage to evade it. Esmé’s fist crashes into the ground and leaves a hole in the concrete.

“Whoa,” I murmur, staring into the ground in amazement. “Kooky as this girl is, she’s tough.”

Esmé and I engage in battle and it seems that I hold the upper hand but Esmé quickly takes control and trips me over. She jumps high up into the air for altitude and launches into attack, only for me to move out of the way just in time. I quickly kick low at Esmé’s feet, tripping her. We both climb to our feet, retreating several steps back into our fighting stances. I make the first move and rush towards Esmé, raising my fist, ready to deliver a powerful strike when she grabs my wrist and spins around in a circle. After a bit, she lets go and sends me flying and crashing into the rough wall on the other side of the river.

“Ooowww!” I moan as I crash to the ground. I pant hard and glance up at Esmé. She’s taking some steps back. Probably to jump to the other side and finish me off. Unbeknown to her, I still have one more trick up my sleeve. Reaching for my utility belt, I take out a stick of the Bubble Gum. I unwarp the gum from its packet and I pop it in my mouth and chew. While I chew, I slowly climb to my feet and dust myself down.

“So, you’re still standing, huh?” says Esmé. “Well, you won’t be standing for long when I’m finished with you!” She runs towards the railings and uses the handrail to launch herself in the air, heading for me.

I immediately start blowing a bubble. I keep blowing until it’s the biggest bubble possible until it bursts, the sticky gooey substance attacking Esmé and sticking her to the ceiling of the tunnel. She stares in horror at the Gum that’s stuck to her clothes and hair.

“WAAAA! WAAAH!” Esmé cries, reverting back to her normal, childish self. “WAAA! What is this gunk you attacked me with!? Ew, it’s disgusting and gross! Waah, it’s in my hair and clothes! Waaa, you’re such a meanie, Cat! I hate you, Cat! You hear me – I hate yo-o-ou! WAAAAA…!”

I place my hands on my hips, grinning like an idiot. The most eccentric person I’ve ever met, yet the most challenging. The smile soon disappears from my face when I hear footsteps. I look to my left to find MI9 appearing at the scene. To be more specific, Oscar and Frank! Upon seeing them, I take off.

I run at full speed. I don’t glance back. But I can hear someone running at my heels. I run and run and run. My back’s sore when Esmé threw me against the wall. My knees ache, my chest hurts, I’m gasping for breath and I’ve got such a stitch I feel I’ve got giant staples in my sides, but I don’t slow down. I keep going until the awkwardly located ladder rungs come in to view.

I leap onto the ladder and start climbing, even though my legs are still wobbling from all the running, when I hear someone say, “Hold it… hold it right there, Cat.”

I freeze. Of all the people in MI9 to stop me, it has to be Frank London. I climb down the ladder and face him. He staggers towards me. And like me, he’s got such a stitch he’s fighting not to double up.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go,” I tell him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” says Frank. “As much as we appreciate you saving us and stopping the SKUL agent, you’re still a criminal. Taking law enforcement into your own hands is illegal, and for that I’ll have to take you in. We can either do this the easy way… or the hard way.”

“I don't want to fight you.”

“So you're gonna surrender?”

I don’t say anything.

“Right, you asked for it,” says Frank, getting into a defensive stance. “I’m gonna have to take you by force.”

Great!

Frank rushes towards me only for me to sidestep out of the way. He tries to throw his lead fist straight ahead at me but I block the punch and push his hand away. He tries to throw a right hook but I knock his hand to the left. The same with the left hook – I knock his hand to the right. Frank tries to jab me again, only for me to block the punch again and throw him over my shoulder.

“Give it up,” I say. “There's no way you could beat me, so it’ll be better if you let me go.”

“Never,” says Frank as he gets up and dusts himself off. “I have orders to take you in and that's exactly what I'm gonna do.”

He launches a flurry of kicks and punches, switching his attacks as much as possible, but I block them all. As much as I hate Frank right now, I really don’t want to hurt him. I manage to avoid his low sweep kick, when I hear voice I instantly recognize the voice that’s echoing through the tunnel.

“Frank!”

It’s Rose.

“Hold on, Frank – we’re coming!”

And Carrie.

I turn to the tunnel. Oh God, I hope they don’t join in on the fight. I really don’t want to take on my students. I turn back to Frank, only for him to swing his leg and kick me across the face, knocking my mask off my face.

An intense feeling of shock appears on my face as I stare at my mask that’s fallen to the ground.

Oh no…

I turn to Frank, whose eyes are filled with surprise and disbelief. I stand still. He stays still too, frozen.

“Jenny?” says Frank.

My worst nightmare has come true.

Frank now knows who I am.

I stare at him, my eyes filled with deep anxiety and dread. I feel the tears stinging my eyes when I move towards Frank, my eyes burning into his.

When I stop in front of him, I’m welling up. “I’m so sorry, Frank,” I say. Then I punch him on the jaw with such force that I knock him out.

Frank. I bend down him and brush his hair back with my shaky hand.

“I’m so very sorry.” A tear rolls down my cheek.

“Frank!”

It’s Carrie and Rose. I’ve got to move quickly.

I grab my mask and put it on my face. I jump on the rungs and get up the ladder. When I reach the manhole cover, it proves to be a little stubborn to open, but I manage to shift it. When I remove the cover and emerge to the surface, there’s a small crowd of surprised-looking people around me, however they step back and cover their noses when the sewer vapour hangs heavy in the air. But I don’t care about how I smell. I activate my Jetpack Backpack and leaping into the air, I take off.

I don’t know where I’m going. I have no idea at all. All I know is that I need to be as far away from Frank and MI9 as possible.

I head for the Shard, the tallest building in the UK, located in Southwark. I land at the very top of the building. Upon landing, I burst into tears, my hands over my face. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe Frank found out who I am. I’m shrieking inside with the shock of it. I can’t keep it all inside. I open my mouth and let out a hideous roar of anger.

“ _EYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_ ”

I get down on all fours and use my fists to beat the ground.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen! This wasn’t supposed to _happen!_ ”

I stop punching the ground and continue to sob. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Frank wasn’t supposed to find out about me. If only he let me go like I told him to, I could’ve retired from crime-fighting right now. I could’ve flown back to Zeke’s, told him about my successful mission and told him that I was going to stop being the Cat and get on with my normal life. But now that my identity has been revealed, I may have to leave London altogether. But I can’t, can I? Frank would’ve told Stark who I am and he would get every agent, SWAT team, office worker, scientist and technician, and custodian maintenance in MI9 to chase after me. I can’t leave the city invisible or in disguise in case MI9 have some fancy gadget to detect me in. There’s no way I can go to my parent’s home or Aunt Hermione’s, in case there are cars waiting outside. I can’t even crash at a friend’s place in case the agents do go to my parent’s house and ask for their names and addresses. All in all, I’m screwed.

My communicator beeps. Oh God, it’s Zeke. I can’t let him see me like this. I wipe away my tears, and try and compose myself. I open the communicator.

“Hey Jen!” says Zeke. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” I say as I try to sound my normal self. “It went great; the mission was a complete success.”

“There wasn’t any trouble at all?”

“No, no. No trouble whatsoever.”

“Not even from a certain ex-boyfriend who works for a certain government organization?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because judging by your red, swollen eyes and runny nose, I’d say that something went wrong. Did something go wrong?”

“Zeke, it’s nothing. Really. I think I-I may be coming down with a cold.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. He opens his mouth to speak, but changes his mind. “Well… OK. Make sure you get plenty of rest and drink lots of water.”

“I will.” Just when he’s about to hang up, I say, “Hey Zeke?”

“Yeah?”

I wanted to tell him how I was caught out by Frank, but decided against it. So I end up saying, “Thanks.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome.” Then he hangs up.

“Thanks for everything,” I say to the blank communicator screen. I know what I have to do. “Activate cloaking device.”

My body becomes invisible. I stand up and activate the Jetpack. I launch myself in the air and head for the airport.

xxoOoxx

I reach London City Airport in less than ten minutes. I look down at the small but busy airport.

“OK, let’s do this,” I say to myself. I go to cylinder of my utility belt and bring out the Cat-Tracer. “Now, who should I put this on?”

As I say it, a large man, around about in his mid- to late fifties, with a glorious red beard and moustache and thinning red hair on the top of his head comes out of a taxi. I whizz down to him, but not too close to him. As he and the taxi driver take out the suitcases from the truck, I creep over to the man’s hand luggage and opening the front pocket of the bag, I place the Cat-Tracer in the bag. Then I fly away.

“OK,” I say, “judging by how traffic is at the moment, it’ll take MI9 about thirty minutes to get here. It gives me some time to visit a few people. First off, Mum, Dad and Livi.”

xxoOoxx

It takes me ten minutes to arrive at my house in Victoria Park, East London. It’s a quaint little house called Cadogan Terrace – it’s a pleasant residential area close to the shops, bars and restaurants of Victoria Park Village. It’s a stylish three-bedroomed home with a stunning rear garden and additional terrace. God, it’s being forever since I been here. The last time I came here was back in May when it was half term. I stare at my house, taking in every detail. Then, my heart skips a beat when my parents and Livi come out of the front door. Today is the last day of the summer holidays before Livi goes back to university, so they must be taking her out for the afternoon.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” says Dad. People say that I look like him, though his skin is darker than mine. But we do have the same personality – we’re both active and assertive, but impatient and aggressive. “A beautiful day for a walk around the park. And then afterwards, we can have lunch.”

“If only Jenny was here with us,” says Mum. She’s pretty much the opposite of Dad – she’s gentle, thoughtful and caring. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the whole world. She’s got such a gorgeous figure – she’s curvy in all the right places, with short dark curly afro. Big dark eyes, a heart-shaped face, soft cheeks, soft caramel arms and soft cushiony breasts. Livi definitely gets all that from Mum.

“She’s probably spending time with her fancy caretaker boyfriend,” says Livi. No, I’m not. “I think they may have kissed and made up by now.” No, I haven’t. “But don’t worry, Mum. Jen will see us at Christmas.” No, I won’t. “And all four of us will be round the table, eating turkey, with chipolata sausage, roast potatoes, a dollop of mash and garden peas, and then mincemeat tart with a blob of cream. She won’t be able to resist your home-baked Christmas cake. No-one can.”

I watch as they wander down the road, side by side with their arms linked around each other’s, talking and laughing. I can feel tears prickling in my eyes again when I watch them disappear around the corner. I’m gonna miss them – so very much. Staring at my house one final time, I wipe away my tears and activate the Jetpack. Then I leap into the air and fly off.

xxoOoxx

So this is it. The final frontier.

I stand outside the headquarters of MI9 in Millbank. I’ve been spending nearly four years as the Cat trying to avoid being capture by these guys. But now that I’ve being unmasked, it’s only a matter of time before I do get captured by MI9. So I decided to do the job for them one last time – I’ve decided to hand myself in. I’d rather do that than have Frank, along with Carrie, Rose and Oscar arrest me.

I go up the steps and huddle to the corner by the doors. I use my communicator to see if anyone is walking nearby or if any cars are coming this way. I’ve only got about 5.8 seconds before any cars comes.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say to the communicator. While by body becomes visible, I press the blue button above the keypad to change back into my civilian clothes.

I look over my shoulder to see cars and buses rolling by without slowing down. Looks like I got away with that one – for the last time. Looking at the outside world one more time, I take a deep breath, push the door open and enter MI9 HQ.

I feel like I’ve being transported into another dimension as I stand in the lobby – it’s modern, yet sophisticated, like it’s the year 3000. Suddenly, I feel like a fish out of water, especially when there’s a sharp-dressed and professional-looking woman at the reception desk and I look at my black sleeveless tee, leather jacket and jeans in disdain. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll soon be wearing a hideous grey jumpsuit – and that’s what I’ll be wearing for a very long time.

Before I know it, I make my way over to the sleek, mahogany desk.

“Can I help you?” the young red-haired woman asks.

“M-my name is Jenny Brownstone,” I stammer. “I’m also known as the crime-fighter, the Cat. And I would like to turn myself in.”

Within minutes, security guards swoop down on me and take me to the cell blocks located under MI9 HQ. Once there, my watch communicator and Backpack are confiscated and my civilian clothes are replaced by an incredibly tacky orange jumpsuit. My makeup has been wiped off my face and my hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I am now a shell of the person I was a few hours ago. After my makeunder, I get shoved into a prison cell.

The cell is medium-sized with brick walls and a single solid door with a single barred window – the one that I just went through. And speaking of windows, there is a single barred window opposite the door – not that there’s much of a view to look out of. Furnishings and fixtures inside the cell like the bed and desk are anchored to the walls or floor. A stainless steel lavatory is also anchored to the floor. It’s also a combined sink and water fountain in the cistern. There’s no way on earth I’m washing my hands in that thing… or drink from it. I go to my new bed and lie on the very lump mattress. This is my new home now…

I hear someone unlocking the door to my cell nearly half an hour later. The door opens and I sit up. A woman enters the room. She’s tall, slim, and lithe, in her late forties with ochre-coloured skin and short tight black curls that frame her face. She’s wearing a tailored grey suit featuring a cinch-waist jacket and pencil skirt. A crisp black shirt collar and bow accentuate the neckline. And on her feet, she’s wearing black high-heeled slingbacks.

“Are you the Cat?” the woman asks.

I nod. “Yes. My name is Jenny Brownstone,” I tell her.

The woman nods. “My name is Francine Fairchild – I’m the head of MI9. I just came back from a meeting with the Prime Minister when I received word that you, Miss Brownstone, turned yourself in.”

“Sorry if I wasted everyone’s time in making them think I was trying to escape the country,” I say, trying to sound cocky when I actually sound like a dork. “I take it that they’ll be coming back here after their wild goose chase?”

“Yes.”

“And they’ll be heading here to see me like I’m some circus freak?”

The Head nods.

I stay silent for a moment. There’s no way I want Frank to see me in here. Or the others.

“Listen, I don’t suppose you could do me a favour,” I say.

“And why should I do that?” the Head asks, crossing her arms.

“Because I pretty much gave up what’s left of my ordinary little life in rotting behind these bars for a long time. I didn’t need to, but I did. Now, I’ve already thought about ten different ways in escaping this place without the need for gadgets, so unless you want that to happen, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”

I don’t actually have ten different plans. I just wanted to sound confident, even though I’m scared, sad and lonely inside. But I don’t let the Head see that. I stare into her eyes to let her know that I’m serious. Finally, she gives in.

“What is your request?”

“The following agents are not, I repeat, _not_ allowed to see me: Chief Agent Horatio Stark, Agents Rose Gupta, Carrie Stewart and Oscar Cole, and Agent Frank London,” I say.

“And may I ask why?”

I shrug. “No reason. I just don’t want them to see me. And I don’t want to see them – or speak to them. Most definitely Agent London. So if they come here – and I know they will – could you tell them that?”

The Head narrows her dark brown eyes at me. “What do I get out of this?”

“Information about how I became the Cat and why I do what I do.”

After about a minute or so, the Head sighs and nods, agreeing to tell the others what I told her. Then she leaves the cell, while I lie back on the bed.

Another fifteen minutes rolls by when I hear rushing footsteps coming from outside the cell. I leave my bed and go to the barred window on the door. I back away when I see Frank in a fit of collapse outside the cell block with the Head.

“Are you all right, Frank?” she asks.

“I’m… fine,” he pants.

I hear more footsteps. That must be Rose, Carrie and Oscar – as well as Stark.

“I take you’re here to see the Cat,” says the Head. “Or Jenny as you call her.”

“Yes!” they cry out.

“Well, I’m afraid you can’t.”

“What? No. No, please, Ma’am. Please, you have to let me see her,” Frank begs.

“I wasn’t the one who decided this. It was Miss Brownstone. She requested that you five are forbidden to see or speak to her – specifically you, Frank.”

“Bu-bu-but I have to see her. I have to talk to her. I’m her boyfriend!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”

“But, Ma’am…”

“Frank, if you care about this girl, I suggest you respect her decision.”

No-one says anything for a moment. I peer out of the barred window to see Frank lower his eyes, like he’s about to cry. Then he turns and walks away. It hurts me inside to see him like this, so I go back to my bed, trying not to cry myself, listening to the Head telling Rose, Oscar, Carrie and Stark to not visit me or speak to me while I’m here. If they do, they’ll be severely punished. The others murmur “Yes, Ma’am” to the Head and walk away. When I hear the footsteps fade away altogether, I hear the door to my cell unlocking again. I sit on my bed when the Head enters the room again.

“Well… I can now understand why you didn’t want to see Agent London,” she says. “You didn’t tell me that he was your boyfriend.”

“ _Ex_ -boyfriend – and no, I didn’t,” I say. “Now how about pulling up a chair – I know you’re just dying to find about how I became the feline crime-fighter.”

“Fine.” The Head takes the brown chair from under the desk and places it opposite. She sits down and crosses her arms and legs. “So, tell me, Miss Brownstone, how did you become the Cat?”

I sit back against the wall, cross-legged. Taking a deep breath, I begin to tell my story. “It was the summer of 2008…”


	27. The Origin of the Cat

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It was the summer of 2008. June, to be exact. I was nineteen years old and I recently finished college. But rather than getting ready for university, I decided to take a gap year, to which my parents didn’t mind. And by taking a gap year, I had to look for a job. I spent the first two weeks of my summer holidays filling in application forms, looking through newspapers and calling up people, but there had been no response. So the next best thing was to go out in the world and hand out CVs to shops – and what better place than Oxford Street.

“Mum, Dad! I’m going to Oxford Street to hand out CVs!” I shouted as I came down the stairs.

“OK!” Mum called.

“Be safe!” Dad shouted back.

“Wait, I’m coming, too!” said Livi, coming down the doors after I open the front door.

“You do realise that I’m only going there to hand out CVs, not window shop,” I told her.

“Exactly. _You’re_ gonna be handing out CVs, while _I_ go window shop.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Liv. Let’s go, or we’ll miss the bus.”

When we got there, Livi and I went our separate ways, agreeing to meet up at the entrance to Debenhams. At the precise moment we agreed, Livi’s eyes were following three boys in tight jeans fooling around outside the HMV shop. They disappeared inside – and she dashed off, leaving me for dust. If there’s one thing Livi liked better than shopping, it’s boys. Lots of them. I just sighed, rolled my eyes and sloped off.

I spent hours and hours and hours trekking up and down the busy shopping street, going into shops and asking them if there were any vacancies. If they said no, I’d hand out a CV and trooped off.

Then after I finished handing out CVs, I spent hours and hours and hours wandering around the same shops I was in, trying on and gazing enviously at any clothes, shoes and accessories that was hanging on a rack or stacked on a shelve, playing the If-I-had-a-million-quid-to-spend game, though I did end up buying a couple of two-for-one T-shirts and some jewellery, and then I spent ages in the HMV store listening to my favourite CDs and humming along to them.

By the time I came out of the shop, it was nearly four o’clock, so I rushed through the crowds to meet up with Livi. But when I walked by an alleyway, I saw something that caught my eye.

I took some steps back and saw a group of boys, reasonably hip guys, forming a loose circle around two children – a ten-year-old boy and an eight-year-old girl.

The four boys wore denim and leather, angry-looking T-shirts with names of heavy metal groups emblazoned across the fronts. Their hair was short and spiked, or scraggly, down to their shoulders. A couple of them had diamond studs in one ear. They wore the same amused expression.

“Aw, are you little kiddies lost?” one of them said mockingly. He was tall with a mane of dark hair and smouldering dark eyes and looked hip in his skimpy black top and black jeans.

“If you are, we can help you find your mummy…” said another one, who had tousled dark-blond hair.

“But it’s gonna cost ya,” said a third, who had a serious skin problem. He took a deep drag from the cigarette between his lips, then tossed it onto the ground and stamped it out beneath the toe of his black boot.

“But-but-but w-w-we don’t have any m-money…” the little boy stammered.

“Hey, hey! We know you don’t have money. So hand over whatever you’ve got on yourself so I can sell it for money,” said one very Gothic boy with long black hair and chunky silver jewellery.

“Better yet, hand over your sister – let’s sale _her_ for money,” the dark-haired one said.

“Good idea.”

“WAAH! WAAAH!” the small girl cried, gripping her brother’s arm who looked scared.

The circle tightened as the boys moved in on them. There was no way I was gonna let those punky little pricks bully those poor kids.

“Hey! Just what do you punks think you’re doing?!” I yelled at the boys.

The circle opened wide as the four boys turned to see who was calling out to them.

“What do you want, girlie?”

“Push off – it’s nothing to do with you!”

“You’re bulling the very kids who are supposed to inherit the 21st century!” I shouted. “Leave those kids alone!”

This seemed to strike some of them funny. They laughed, short, high-pitched laughter.

“And what are you gonna do if we don’t?” said the Gothic guy.

“You’re gonna get an arse-whooping,” I said.

The four boys laughed louder than before.

“Careful, Dave,” said the fair guy, “she might give you a makeover!” He ended up getting high fives from his two friends.

Gothic Dave took a few steps from his buddies. “All right, then. Let’s do this.”

I dumped my shopping by the wall and stepped forward, taking long, confident strides. Then I assumed a fighting stance.

“Gimme your best shot,” I said.

Gothic Dave smirked and lunged forward, his fist raised, ready to punch me. I waited until he was close enough, then I blocked and diverted his strike, and then I surprised him by throwing a punch in the solar plexus – the soft tissue between the middle portion of the chest and the abdominal muscles – winding him.

I retreated back into my fighting stance while he got his breath back. His friends shouted encouragement to him. After Gothic Dave resumed normal breathing, he threw a straight punch, but I managed to duck it. Then I threw a hook to his forearm, and followed up with a combination of strikes to his body, crippling and disabling his forearm to discourage his attack. He uses his other hand to throw a punch, but I lifted my elbow and delivered a strike into his lower ribs, causing him a lot of pain.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried.

While he clutched his ribs, I attacked his legs. I delivered a quick and painful kick to the shin with the instep of my foot. In addition, I lifted my knee into his inner leg, disabling him.

His friends stared open-mouthed as they watched Gothic Dave fall to the ground, writhing in agony.

“Right, that’s him sorted,” I said. “Who’s next?”

The three boys looked at each other and nodding in agreement, the dark-haired boy rushed towards me, attempting to strike me, but I easily avoided it. Circling around, the dark-haired boy then rushed towards me, committing himself to strike me with a devastating stiff-arm blow. But I dodge the attack again and smash my knee into his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. Then I raised my right foot upward, and lower it, striking him and knocking him to the ground.

With the dark-haired boy incapacitated, the fair-haired boy ran quickly at me, but I somersaulted over him to evade his attack. The boy skidded to a halt and turned to me, smirking. I frowned; having no idea what that guy was smiling about. I only realised that boy with serious ache had jumped behind me, and wrapped his arms around my chest. I tried to wiggle free, but that only made him tighten his arms around me.

“Lights out for you, sweetheart,” said the ache man. I could feel his cigarette breathe on my face.

The fair-haired boy started running towards me again; ready to deliver whatever strike he had planned, while I continued to wiggle myself free. It was only then that I came up with a plan. As fair boy came closer, I pretended that I had stopped struggling, letting the boy with ache think that I had given up. And as he loosened some grip on me, I yanked one of my arms free and smashed my elbow into his face. Shocking him, as well as breaking his nose, I threw him over my shoulder and into the fair boy, knocking him to the ground. The fair boy got up and tried to attack me again, but I delivered a swift, devastating kick to him, seriously harming him.

I stared at the four boys as they lay on the ground, groaning in pain. The fight was over.

“And that’s what you get for bullying someone smaller than you,” I said.

I turned to the small children who had cowered in the corner of the alley, whimpering and trembling in fear.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you,” I reassured them. “I’ve taken care of the bad men. They’re not gonna hurt you.”

I held a hand out for them to take. After a minute or so, the little boy stepped forward and laid his small hand into mine. I held his hand and smiled at him, showing him that I’m his friend and I wasn’t gonna harm him. The boy smiled back and grasped onto my hand. Then he took his sister’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come on. Let’s go find your mum,” I said to them.

The two children nodded and I led them out of the alley, picking up my shopping along the way. After wandering the street for nearly five minutes, the children and I came across some policemen outside Bond Street station, surrounding a small and timid woman with blonde hair and glasses. She was nearly in tears. I didn’t need three guesses to work out who she was.

“Mummy!” the children cried.

The woman looked up to find her children safe and sound.

“Tommy! Kelly!” she cried. The children ran to her and leapt at her, throwing their arms round her neck and she hugged them tighter than tight. They held on to each other as if they could never ever bear to let go. “Thank goodness you two are safe,” the woman sniffed, hugging them harder. “You two are OK, though?”

Tommy pulled back. “This lady took real good care of us,” he said, pointing at me.

“Yeah,” said Kelly. “She beat up some big men who were bullying us.”

The woman came up to me and hugged me. “Thank you so much for saving my children – and looking after them. I’m so grateful to you.”

“Please. It was nothing,” I said, lightly blushing.

The woman opened up her bag and brought her purse. Then she opened that and fished out a twenty pound note.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t…” I began.

“Yes, you can. It’s the least I can do,” said the woman, handing the money to me. Then she gave me another twenty. “My reward to you. Treat yourself.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

The woman goes back to her children. “Come on, kids. Let’s go buy some ice cream.”

Tommy and Kelly cheered and walked off with their mum – but not before they waved at me and thanked me for looking after them. I waved back at them and instantly realized that I was late with meeting up with Livi. I completely forgot about her. I ran off in the opposite direction to Debenhams. When I got there, Livi was already waiting for me. And judging by the way she had her hands on her waist and tapped one foot impatiently on the concrete ground, I’d say she was waiting for a while.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Sorry. I, er, I lost track of time,” I told her.

“And here’s me thinking that you weren’t gonna window shop. Anyway, it’s getting late – let’s get something to eat.”

Livi and I ventured off to McDonald’s and afterwards we caught the train home. When we arrived home I thought how powerful I felt kicking those bullies’ butts. My reward for years of karate and taekwondo lessons finally paid off. It was just a shame no-one saw me get the better of those jerks.

Boy, was I wrong. Dead wrong.

About a week after the Oxford Street alley fight, I just jetted out of the door of my house to hand out more CVs, when the postman arrived with a thin white envelope addressed to me.

_Dear Miss Brownstone,_

_I hear that you have decided to take a gap year before attending university and are looking for work. I would like to offer you the job of a lifetime. You’ll be paid very handsomely for your services. Just come to the address that’s written on the back of the letter and we could discuss this further._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mr. Zed_

I frowned at the letter. I don’t even remember mailing a CV to this Mr. Zed. How did he even know I would be taking a gap year – or looking for work? I looked down at the letter and quoted the three words: “Paid very handsomely.” I thought to myself that is a lot of handsome money he could pay me – it could be a hundred quid a week… or a thousand pounds a month! With that kind of money, I could spend six months working for this guy and spend the rest of the six months travelling. I was definitely game. I looked to the back of the letter and my eyes widened when I found out that this Mr. Zed guy lived all the way in _Kingston upon Thames_. And even though it was in London, it’s nearly an hour’s away by train. But I decided to brush that aside because I needed the money. So I immediately set off.

I took the bus down to Mile End station and used the Central Line to get to Stratford. Then I used the Jubilee Line and travelled all the way down to Waterloo. Finally, I took the National Rail heading for Shepperton and got off at Kingston station. As soon as I left the station, I hailed a taxi and told the driver the address. When the taxi pulled outside the secured gates of the house, my jaw hit the floor. I couldn’t believe that Mr. Zed lived there. This place was awesome!

Two storeys high, the detached house offered itself an impressive Edwardian elegant style throughout, with white shutters and at least a dozen windows. The front lawn was beautifully landscaped and was the size of a football field.

It was not a house – it was a mansion!

I paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi, and I stood outside the gate, still gaping at the house. My mouth soon closed when the gate started sliding open by itself. I looked up to the windows to see who was operating the gate, but I saw no-one. I was reluctant to step forward but I remembered what I was doing it for: the money. Taking a deep breath, I walked up the drive and when I reached the black door, I rang the bell.

But there was no answer.

“Hello?” I called.

No reply.

I rang the doorbell again.

“Hello? It’s Jenny Brownstone. I’ve come about the once-in-a-lifetime job,” I called again.

I pounded and put my ear to the door to listen. No footsteps coming down the stairs. No answer from within.

“Bloody typical,” I muttered. “This is someone’s idea of a joke. Send me a letter about a job and watch me knock at the door you’re not gonna answer. This Mr. Zed guy sent me on a wild goose chase. That good-for-nothing, selfish – eh?!”

I didn’t finish my sentence because the floor beneath me fell away.

“AAAHHHH!” I screamed as I plummeted down… down down down the dark tunnel. “Ohh!” I cried when I landed on a pile of soft white pillows. “Oooh…” I moaned, rubbing my bum. But I stopped and my mouth fell open when I looked at the place that I landed in.

It was like something out of a James Bond film. It was a secret laboratory that was blue with tiled floors and had a lot of button, gears, radars, scales and gizmos and gadgets on the walls of it, as well as highly advanced equipment and large computer displays.

“Oh… my… God,” I murmured. “This is… amazing! This Mr. Zed person has a secret underground base. Way below this incredibly gorgeous –”

I stopped when I heard a noise. It sounded like a door opening.

I quickly stood up and turned to the door in time to see a figure stepping into the laboratory,

I cried out in surprised when I saw who it was.

It was a girl who looked about the same age as me and she was a foot taller. She was slender and willowy and wonderful, with black hair which is parted in the middle, into two buns on either side of her head and dramatic brown eyes under heavy black eyebrows. She wore an Asian-inspired gown of red silk with thigh-high slits on the sides of the skirt, embroidered with flowers and leaves in gold and black, with touches of orange, pink and blue. She had on her feet four-inch black strappy heels, and for jewellery, she wore golden bangle bracelets and red jewel drop earrings.

“Oh, er, hello,” I said. “I was wondering if you could help me. You see, I was supposed to meet up with a man called Mr. Zed about a job and it seems that he dropped me in this secret base that’s located underneath his beautiful home. I was wondering if you could show me where he is.”

The girl said nothing.

“Hello? Didn’t you hear what I said? I need you to show me where Mr. Zed is,” I said.

No reply.

“Well, erm… OK. Thanks for your time. I’ll just let myself out. Bye,” I said. But before I could move a muscle to walk, the girl moved quickly towards me. She ran with such speed, that I didn’t have time to move or react. Suddenly, she launched herself at me, hitting me with a full-body attack. “Owwwww!” I cried when I crashed myself against the wall. “What the fu…?” There was no time to finish the sentence as the girl ran towards me again. I managed to move out of the way just in time, causing the girl to miss me and hit the wall, leaving a dent.

Do you know what the most amazing thing ever?

The girl didn’t cry at all. She didn’t even break so much as a fingernail! I stared at her in awe, wondering how she could possibly create an indention in the wall without breaking her knuckles.

“What the hell…? Are you even human?” I said.

The woman didn’t answer my question. Instead, she rushed towards me again and tackled me to the ground. She tried to wrap her hands around my neck, but I placed my foot under her pelvis and threw her over my head. I got up, coughing a bit, as does the girl. She ran towards me again, but this time, I turned my back on her and extended a leg backwards, exploiting the turning momentum to strike the woman in the chest with the sole of my foot, making her stumble back a bit before falling.

“Yes!” I cheered.

When the girl got up again, for some reason, she had a smile on her face. A smirk. Then she charged at me again and slammed into me, and as I fell, she grabbed me and threw me to the ground. However, I managed to stagger to my feet just as the girl was walking away and I started to run towards her. Then I jumped into the air, front flipped and kicked the girl down. When the girl got up once more, I launched a flurry of punches and kicks at her, but she either kept blocking or dodging the attacks.

God, this girl is tough, I thought.

When we broke away, I was panting hard, while the girl didn’t break a sweat. The girl then got into a fighting stance and beckoned me to her – like she was saying ‘come here’ – to which I obliged. I ran quickly at her, ready to clash with her again. But when I got near to her, she jumped into the air and kicked me with one of her feet, then flipped around and kicked me with her other foot, knocking me down.

“Uhn…” I groaned as I lay on the floor. I glanced up to the girl who was now standing over me, raising her fist, made ready to deliver the final strike.

I shut my eyes and braced myself when a heard a voice that said, “That’s enough, Ling. You are dismissed.”

I opened one of my eyes and looked over to catch Ling dropping her fist and relaxing her hand. She stood back and bowed before me and then she turned and left.

“Huh?” I opened my other eye and sat up. “What the heck just happened?”

“That was quite a fight you had with Ling,” the voice boomed. I stood up and got into a defensive stance, looking around the room to find out where that voice was coming from. “Relax, I’m not gonna bring her out again to fight you. And neither am I – you look like you would chew me up and spit me out.”

I relaxed my body but I remained cautious. “Who was that person you sent to attack me?” I asked.

“That was Ling. She’s my android. I built her,” the voice replied.

“What? You built an android?”

“Yep. She’s an accomplished martial artist. A beautiful and graceful synthetic organism, yet extremely aggressive, ruthless and fiercely competitive. I just recently finished building her and I wanted to try her out on someone.”

“So you chose me?!”

“I wanted to test your skills. I wanted to see if you’re still that the girl who kicked those bullies’ arses in Oxford Street last week.”

I opened my mouth to speak but I froze. “How… how did you know about that?”

“It’s all over the Internet. Look.” The monitor came on to show me in the alleyway with the thugs. I somersaulted over one of them, and then I was grabbed from behind by another boy. I remembered now – I relaxed my body to let the ache man think that I had given up. Then I smashed my elbow into his face and threw him over my shoulder into the fair boy. The fair boy tried to attack me again, but I swiftly defeated him with a side kick to the face.

“Whoa,” I murmured.

“A bystander recorded the whole fight on his phone and uploaded it to YouTube,” said the voice, switching off the monitor. “You’re somewhat a celebrity there, Miss Brownstone.”

“Miss Brownstone? How do you know who I am? In fact, who are you? What is this place? Why am I here?”

“Come on, Jenny, surely you must know who I am.” I gave a little shrug. “Duh! I’m Mr. Zed!”

“You… you’re Mr. Zed?”

“Hey.”

“W-where are you? Are you a computer?”

“I wish! No, I’m just a regular person like you. But I wish to remain anonymous – it makes me mysterious and also very cool.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s my secret underground base. I do my work on all of my inventions here. As you already know, it’s located underneath the house of my parents…”

“You’re parents?! How old are you?”

“My age does not concern you. Let me explain myself. Don’t interrupt.”

Even though I couldn’t see Mr. Zed, I flashed an angry scowl, but remained silent.

“Anyway, this base serves as a command centre, where I monitor all crisis points in London and around the world,” Mr. Zed continued. “The base features state-of-the-art facilities such as a crime lab, various specialized laboratories, mechanized workshops, personal gymnasium and a library. It also has medical facilities as well as various areas used in training exercises. There are two ways to enter the base – one is to pull a book on a bookshelf in my room and it will lift me down in high-speed and another is… well, you already know the one.”

“So, why am I here?”

“You’re here because I want to recruit you.”

“Recruit me for what?”

There was a silence. Then Mr. Zed asked, “What would you say if I wanted to recruit you as a hero?”

“A… A hero? What, you mean like Superman?”

“You could say that, but not like Superman. You’ll be a something like a crime-fighter. One who’s adventurous like Lara Croft, agile like Catwoman, tough like Chun-Li from Street Fighter and beautiful like Beyoncé.”

“I would ask if this was a dream, but I did get a kicking from your robot, so I’d have to ask if you’re high.”

“OK, one, Ling is _not_ a robot, she’s an android. And two, I am 100% serious.”

“But why me?”

“For the past few months, I’ve been looking for someone who’s athletic, quick and has a strong sense of justice, as well as protecting the innocent, and you, Miss Brownstone, seem to fit the bill.”

“Because of what I did to your robo–I mean android and those idiotic hoodlums?”

“You’ve proven to me that you are an exceptional fighter. I mean, who taught you those moves?”

I blushed. “I taught myself since I was seven. Since the days of Jackie Chan films and _Mighty Morphin Power Rangers_ , I trained myself in various fighting styles and acrobatics such as karate and taekwondo. I also did Tae Bo in college.”

“See? You’re obviously a highly disciplined, seasoned, and courageous person, which is why I want to recruit you. I can train you to becoming an even more accomplished fighter.”

“An even more accomplished fighter, huh? Hmmmm. What’s in it for me?”

“Like I said on the letter, you’ll be paid very handsomely – for training and any mission that you take on. On top of that, you’ll be given high-tech gadgets designed by yours truly, a sleek and very sexy outfit along with mask to disguise your identity and of course two weeks paid holiday and one full weekend off a month.”

I stood silent for a moment. “Wo-wow. I mean… wow. This-this-this… this is very tempting work. But how am I supposed to explain this to my folks.”

“You won’t. This has to a secret kept between us. No-one else must know what you’re really doing.”

“So, what am I supposed to tell my family? I can’t exactly walk through my front door with cuts and bruises can I?”

“You’ll tell them that you have volunteered to work aboard. The company who hired you will pay for food, accommodation, medical insurance and any other stuff.”

“So, I’ll be spending the next twelve months living here? How will you explain this to your parents?”

“You leave the explanations to me. My question to you is do you want this?”

This was a hard choice to make. If I say yes, not only did I have to lie to my family but I wouldn’t see them again for twelve months. However, if I say no, then I would how to spend the next twelve months either looking for work or work in some small, stuffy office with some miserly git as my boss.

Decisions, decisions…

“Miss Brownstone? Have you made a decision?” Mr. Zed asked.

After another minute of silence, I smiled. “So when do we get started?”

And so for the next twelve months, I began my training. I studied and trained myself in different styles of fighting, including judo, ninjutsu, aikido, savate, various styles of kung fu, and boxing. I also trained in gymnastics and advanced acrobatics, developing my speed and strength, agility, and endurance, proportionate to a cat. As well as training in martial arts, I became an expertise in small arms and firearms and trained myself to becoming a marksman. Also, during my time at Mr. Zed’s, I learnt how to drive – not only with the car, but with the motorbike, jet, helicopter and speedboat. I also learnt several languages while I stay at Mr. Zed’s – French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Japanese, Chinese and Portuguese. The only times I didn’t need to train was my birthday, Christmas, Easter and the days where I trained myself into exhaustion and had to rest for a few days. There are days when it wasn’t training. There would be times where I would relax, have a swim in Mr. Zed’s pool, shop around the town and of course getting a portfolio together for university – I wanted to study illustration and graphic design.

Anyway, after months and months and months of training, Mr. Zed wanted to put my new abilities to the test. I remember that night like it was yesterday. It was an August night, 2009. The stars were out and there was a bright half-moon. And though the night was warm, eddies of cold air rolled off me whilst I stalked the city of London on my Jetpack Backpack, in my new catsuit, mask and cat ears. Suddenly, I received word from Mr. Zed via watch communicator that there was a robbery taking place in Knightsbridge – my very first mission. I flew over to the jewellery store as quickly as I could. But when I got to the shop, the door was wide open and the shop was empty. The display cases had been smashed opened – the jewellery had been swiped.

“Mr. Zed, the robbers have already left – and they’ve taken the gems,” I told him on the communicator.

“Just give me a sec, Jen. I’m trying to see if there’s a tracking device attached to any of the jewellery cases,” he said. I could hear typing in the background. “Aha! Gotcha. All right, Jen, I’ve got those little slime bags. They’re at Kensington Gardens – by the Physical Energy Statue.”

“On it.” I activated the Jetpack and flew over to the Gardens.

Once there, I landed in some nearby trees not too far from where the robbers were. There were two of them, dressed head to toe in black, leaning against the plinth of the statue, catching their breath, with two bags filled with the stolen jewellery. I moved swiftly and silently, using the shadows of the trees to conceal myself.

When I got near to them, I said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll return those gems.”

“Huh? Who said that? Show yourself!” said the robber with long hair. I stepped out of the shadows. When he saw me, his eyes bugged in astonishment. “Hey! Who the hell are you?”

I smirked at the man. “I’m the Cat – the fiendishly feisty heroine who’s about to kick your butts if you two jerks don’t return those gems.”

The two men stared at me – then busted out laughing.

“What a joke! A fiendishly feisty heroine? You’re nothing but a stupid, silly girl,” said the burly robber. “There’s emphasis on the stupid because your maths is a little off. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s one of you and two of us.”

“I make that Pimm’s o’clock. But rather than serving you a glass of fruit cup, you two are gonna get a tall glass of kick-ass,” I said, getting into a fighting stance.

“We’ll see about that, Little Miss Kitty.”

He lunged at me then, but I jumped up and kicked him in the face, and sent him sprawling backwards to the ground. He got again and rushed towards me; however, I grabbed his wrist and threw him to the ground, causing him to gasp. He fumbled clumsily at his pocket. I caught a glimmer of light on steel as he tried to slash me with his knife. But I kicked the blade out of the brawny robber’s hand and kicked him in the face. He grunted and rolled out of my reach.

I sensed movement. I looked up to see the long-haired robber tackle me to the ground, pinning me under him. While he rested his foreman onto my neck to choke me, I pinned my hand on the ground. Then I put one leg firmly on the ground, pushed off of it, and swung my hips over. With a good amount of pointedness, I was on top of the long-haired robber and socked him. I scrambled onto my feet and rushed over to the bag of gems. But before I could pick them up, I felt an arm wrapping itself round my neck, trying to choke me.

“Looks like your nine lives have just run out,” said the long-haired man, wrapping his arm tightly around my neck.

That’s what he thought. I brought the ball of my foot forward, as if I just kicked a football, and fast and forcefully, I slammed my foot into the area of his leg between his ankle and mid-leg, breaking his leg.

“Ah, my leg!” he yelled, immediately letting go of me. He grabbed me again, but I wriggled myself free from his grasp and threw him hard against a tree, instantly knocking him out cold.

I heard the bulky robber stirring behind me. He had regained consciousness and staggered to his feet. He was coming at me with the knife, but I swiftly snatched the weapon out of his hand. The movement was so fast; my black-gloved hand was a blur.

The burly robber stared a moment in amazement at his suddenly empty hand. Then, uttering a cry of rage, he rushed at me. I made a quick slash with the knife. The clothes of the man fell apart, leaving him in only his red-and-white Snoopy boxers. The robber looked down at his semi-naked self and screamed a girlish scream, covering his shorts. He looked up at me and with a smirk; I punched him hard across the face. The blow stunned him and he fell back to the ground, rendering him unconscious.

“And that’s the end of that,” I said to myself, dusting off my hands.

In the distance I heard sirens and saw the flashes of blue lights. The police had arrived. I grabbed the legs of the semi-naked robber and dragged him to the statue. I did the same to his partner. Then I tied them both up with rope. I could hear footsteps and low voices approaching. I quickly took out a small piece of paper and pencil and wrote a note to the police.

_To all you Mr. Policemen! I captured the jewellery robbers for you! Love, the Cat. XOXO._

I placed the note next to the robbers and took off. Looking down below, I saw the look on the policemen’s faces and heard the exclamations of confusion as they saw the robbers.

“Tee hee,” I giggled and I flew off. I landed on the roof of a nearby building and contacted Mr. Zed. “Mr. Zed? The mission was a success. The robbers have been caught.”

“Well done, Jen!” he praised. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel good! No, not good – I feel… exhilarated. What a rush! I can still feel the adrenaline course through my veins. This is the most amazing experience I’ve ever done since I rode the Colossus roller coaster in Thorpe Park. I’ve never been so thrilled in my life. I can’t wait to do more of these missions!”

“Good. Because believe me, Jen, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Then I say bring it on!”

And from that day, the Cat was born.

Whatever the case, you would guarantee that I would be there to solve it. From world domination plans to mass mayhem, I would always be there to combat crime and diffuse humanitarian crises all over London as the mysterious feline heroine, the Cat.


	28. An Unexpected Proposal

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“…And from that day, the Cat was born. Whatever the case, you would guarantee that I would be there to solve it. From world domination plans to mass mayhem, I would always be there to combat crime and diffuse humanitarian crises all over London as the mysterious feline heroine, the Cat.” When I finished telling my story, there’s silence in the cell. I stretch my legs after having them crossed for so long. “Pretty neat story, huh?”

“A fascinating tale indeed,” says the Head. “But there are some bits that need to be questioned. For example, how did this Mr. Zed know your name? How did he know where you lived?”

I sigh. “After he saw the video of me on YouTube, he ran a facial recognition on me. Then he looked on the various social networking websites that I would be on. He ended up finding me on Facebook, so that’s how he knew my name. As to where I lived, he simply hacked into my e-mail account as my e-mail address was displayed on my Facebook page and pretty much scooped through my inbox and sent folders until he saw a CV and cover letter that I sent to a company a couple of weeks before I met him. That’s also how he knew I wanted to take a gap year.”

“I see.” The Head sits in deep thought. “Tell me, Miss Brownstone, why did you take up Mr. Zed’s offer and became the Cat?”

“Well, at first… at first I did it for the money. You know it was when you were a student – you’re so poor, you made homeless people feel slightly richer. But then, as time went by, I started to enjoy fighting crime and saving the city from criminals and evil maniacs. I loved having to use my gadgets to kick their butts with. I also loved outwitting the security service and the police and seeing you guys rip your hair out because the credit always went to me. I also enjoyed seeing my name and face in the papers – it gave people something to smile about in the morning before they went to work. There were also the compliments I heard strangers say about me – how good it was that someone who isn’t as competent as the police is targeting criminals in an effort to clean up the city, as well as the she is fine like hell comments. But what I loved about being the Cat was the kids – from aged seven upwards, the kids looked up to me and saw me as a hero, wishing they could be me. Now…” I sigh again. “Now the kids will have to find a new hero to look up to since I’m gonna be stuck behind these bars for a long, long time.”

“What are you going to tell your family now that you’re here?”

“Mr. Zed and I agreed that in the event of my arrest, he should send a letter to my parents saying that I won the lottery and that I decided to travel the world, visiting every city in the country and afterwards, settle down in Australia.”

“But you weren’t arrest, Miss Brownstone. You turned yourself in.”

“I am entitled to a phone call. I’ll tell Mr. Zed what’s happened and he’ll do the rest.”

“Hmm.” There’s silence between us again. Then the Head asks, “Why did you turn yourself in?”

I hesitate. I see where she’s getting at. She wants me to talk about Frank.

“I thought you would’ve figured that out already,” I say.

“I would like to hear it from you, Miss Brownstone,” says the Head.

“Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms. “I turned myself in because if I started running, I wouldn’t stop. Also, I didn’t want any of my enemies to hurt my family if this got out. Happy?”

“Not really. What you have told me may be the truth, but it’s not the full truth is it?”

“So why don’t you tell me what the ‘full truth’ is then,” I say irritably.

“Very well. The only other reason that you turned yourself in is because you felt ashamed and foolish to see Agent London. You didn’t want to see the look on his face when my agents placed the cuffs on you and threw you in jail, so you decided to trick them into thinking that you were escaping the country. And while everyone was led on a wild goose chase, you decided to quietly turn hand yourself in rather than face the humiliation of being arrested.”

“So what if I did? It’s better than injuring Frank’s dignity and pride if I did get arrested. That already happened when he found out who I was.” I can still see the look on Frank’s face when he saw me without my mask. Oh Frank, why didn’t you just let me go?

“Why didn’t you want Agent London or any of the others to see you?”

“Oh, my God,” I groan in frustration. “What the hell is this, Twenty Questions?”

“When you’re under my jurisdiction, it is Twenty Questions. Now how about answering it?”

I glare at her. “I didn’t want Stark in here because I can’t stand the thought of him coming in here with his stupid, smug, gloaty face saying how he always knew that I would wound up in here. God, he’s so damn smug, that if he got any smugger, he’d give himself a hernia. With Rose, Oscar and Carrie, that’s simple. They’re my students at St Hope’s and I didn’t want them to see their teacher – who they’ve now found out is a crime-buster – doing time. Knowing them, they’d probably tell their friends and the teachers… and Aunt Hermione. She’s the deputy headmistress at that school. I’m gonna miss her – even if she is a sour old cow.”

“And Agent London?”

I let out another sigh. “With Frank… if I have to see him, talk to him, I shall die. I… I thought I could trust him. I thought he was the one person in the world that wouldn’t lie to me, hurt me…” I sniff. “Betray me.”

“But… you’ve lied to him, too.”

“No! No, that is where you are wrong. You are wrong wrong wrong. There is a difference between what me and Frank told each other. I told him everything there was to know about me – my friends, my family, hobbies, likes and dislikes, my dreams and ambitions – _everything_! I just didn’t tell him I was the Cat. Other than that, I told him everything about me. He pretty much lied directly to my face about what he did. He told me that he dropped out of school when he was fifteen and worked a number of jobs before becoming a caretaker to St Hope’s.”

“But you’ve lied to your family about what you did during your gap year.”

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because I’m not dating any of them, am I?!” I snap. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean… Sorry.”

The Head nods, accepting my apology.

“Anyway, now that I know he’s an MI9 agent, I’m now questioning everything about him. I mean, is Frank London even his real name? What if it’s something posh and stupid like… like Peregrine Carruthers?”

The Head raises her eyebrows a fraction. “I can assure you, Miss Brownstone that Frank London _is_ his real name.”

“Well, judging by the way he speaks he sounds like a Peregrine Carruthers. Anyway, the reason why I didn’t let Frank in to see me is because… I’m scared that he’ll end up hating me.”

The cell is quiet. It’s chilly as its evening and I’m sitting by a barred window. I shiver.

“Miss Brownstone, Frank doesn’t hate you – he loves you,” the Head says softly. “Didn’t you hear him beg me to let him in to see you?”

I huddle up on the bed in silence, my knees under my chin, closing my eyes and seeing Frank’s face fall and obviously his heart breaking when the Head refused to let him in.

“That’s all an act,” I say eventually, opening my eyes. “He was just saying that so you would let him in. Then he’ll come in here, shouting the odds, slagging me off, and then telling me that he hopes I rot in here forever.”

“Agent London would never do that. Not to someone he loves.”

“Please,” I snort. “I’m pretty sure that underneath the cheap suit and kitsch shirt there’s a man going crazy, yelling all sorts of stuff, waving his arms around, his fists clenched – like some Neanderthal. And I don’t blame him – I was the same when I found out he was a secret agent.” A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. “I, er… I remember the night I found out that Frank worked for MI9. I thought it was a joke a first, but when I saw the documents, I felt my heart take a nosedive, then smashing into a million pieces. I felt so deceived… so foolish. When I went home, I stayed in my room for the entire weekend – the only time I left the room was when I had a shower or needed the toilet. I didn’t speak to anyone, not even Livi. I just lay on my bed. Then I’d sit up and punch my pillow again and again and again. I cried. I slept. When I woke up I’d forget just for a second and start thinking happy thoughts about Frank, reaching for my phone to call him – and I remember that it’s all over. Even when I escaped to Ireland, I experienced the same pain all over again. It… it was just too much for me. It’s too painful.”

My throat feels dry and my eyes prickle. I very nearly start crying, but I didn’t want to do it in front of someone.

The Head is looking at me. My eyes blur so that she goes all fuzzy. The Head looks down at her watch.

“Listen, it’s getting rather late,” she says. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to leave you. Do you want the guards to fix you up something?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Would you like to call anyone?”

“No.”

“Very well.” The Head stands up and heads for the door. Before she leaves, the Head says, “Just so you know, Frank really does care about you – he thinks the world of you. I saw it in his eyes. The same goes for Agents Gupta, Stewart and Cole – they all care very deeply for you. Don’t take that for granted and don’t push them out of your life.”

Tears are welling up in my eyes when the Head leaves. Before I know it, the dam bursts and all the tears I’d been fighting back for hours suddenly come pouring out again. I fling myself on the bed and cry and cry. I feel so _lonely_. I want my mum. I know I sound like a wimp, but it’s true. I wish my mum was here. And my dad. And Livi. I want all of us squashed in my warm, comfortable bedroom in Cadogan Terrance, like we’re a family, us four Brownstones together. But that’s not gonna happen. Because I’m never gonna see them again. I’m gonna miss them like crazy. The same goes with Zeke – I’m gonna miss him. He was like the brother I never had. The same goes to Kenzie and Victor (even though I only met Victor once). I’m gonna miss Aunt Hermione. Mr. Flatley, too and my students – Scoop, Homie, JJ, Avril, Davina and Donovan – they were the absolute best. But the group of people who I’m gonna miss the most is Rose, Carrie, Oscar and of course Frank. I wish I didn’t tell the Head to tell Frank that he couldn’t see me. What I wouldn’t give to see him one more time. Just to tell him that I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused and that… I love him. I love him forever and a day. He’s my soulmate, my destined life partner… the One.

But now he hates me. That makes me cry even harder. My boyfriend – my very first boyfriend – resents me. And it’s not just the fact that I wouldn’t let him see me – I’ve lied to him, I’ve been dishonest, I’ve been deceitful. I don’t deserve someone like Frank. I don’t deserve this sweet, wonderful, handsome man who has taken me on special walks, whispered lovely things in my ear and made me laugh whenever I was feeling down. I’m not worthy of him. Frank deserves so much better. He needs someone who won’t lie to him – she would always tell the truth and will always be faithful to him. He needs someone who’s a goody two-shoes – sugar and spice and everything nice. Frank deserves that sort of woman in his life – not some former-costumed-heroine-turned-convict liar. I just hope that maybe someday in the future, he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me.

And after hours and hours of crying, I finally manage to doze off – just.

xxoOoxx

“Wake up!” a voice booms.

“Mmm…?” I moan, stirring under the covers. I peep out from the cover to see a male security guard with thick dark hair and big brown eyes standing at the doorway of my cell. I stick my head out from under the cover. My swollen and puffy eyes are blink-blink-blinking because of the bright sunlight that’s penetrating through the barred windows and brightening the room. The guard is taken aback when he sees me. I don’t blame him. I’m an absolute train wreck. I’ve spent the whole weekend crying buckets – tanks – _swimming pools_ – about me spending the rest of my life in this dump, not being able to see my friends and family again. Not to mention the whole Frank situation – I’ll never see him again either. Plus, I haven’t slept much – or eaten. I feel my hair. My ponytail is very loose and it’s now a tangled mess. I must look like a zombie. “W-what’s going on?” My voice is still choked with sleep.

“The Head of MI9 wants to see you,” the guard replies.

“Huh? The Head wants to see me? Did she say what for?”

“All she said is that I should bring you into her office ASAP. Now, let’s go.”

I pull the covers away and force myself out of bed. I bathe my poor sore eyes in cold water and follow the guard out of the cell and to the elevator. He takes me in the lift up to the top floor, swooping up so fast I feel sick. When I step of out the lift, I get ushered down a maze of corridors until I stop outside the door that reads FRANCINE FAIRCHILD. My heart is thumping like crazy and my stomach is in knots. What does the Head want to see me about? Is she gonna move me to another prison? Somewhere that’s even worse than this place? Or is she gonna let me go – after she erases my memory so I’ll forget that I was ever the Cat? What does she want with me?!

I jump when the guard knocks on the door.

“Come in,” says the Head.

The guard opens the door and enters. “Ma’am, the prisoner’s outside.”

“Send her in.”

The guard comes out. “Go on in.”

I make my way into the office, closing the door behind me. I look to the clock that’s near the door – it’s just after half past nine. I nervously walk over to the Head, who is sitting behind her glass desk, glancing over her paperwork. She’s dressed in a Chanel-esque woven black and white suit jacket and matching skirt, a white blouse, sheer black tights, black and white spectator heels, and faux pearl jewellery. The Head looks up and smiles at me.

“Ah, good morning, Miss Brownstone,” she says. “Please have a seat.”

I sit myself down on the black leather swivel chair feeling flushed and jittery, hardly able to keep still.

“How are you feeling?” the Head asks.

“Like crap,” I reply curtly. “I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten and my eyes are so red and swollen from the amount of crying I’ve done, it looks like I’ve suffered an allergic reaction. Not to mention that I smell a bit funky because I haven’t had a shower, so excuse me if I do not smell like roses.”

The Head narrows her eyes at me, like she’s about to tell me off for being rude. But to be honest, I really couldn’t give a flying fuck. I don’t have any friends. I don’t have a boyfriend. And I’m never gonna see the outside world again. I am Jenny the Jailbird, the girl no-one likes, the girl no-one wants. Poor sad stupid Jenny.

_Eventually_ , the Head draws breath and lets my attitude slide. “You’re probably wondering why I called you up here,” she says.

I shrug. I seriously don’t give a damn.

“I called you here because I have a proposition for you,” says the Head.

Oh God, I was right. She is gonna let me go – providing that I have my memory erased, so I’ll have no recollection of ever being the Cat. Or being in jail. Or meeting and falling in love with Frank. Maybe it’s something even more awful than a memory wipe. Whatever the Head tells me can’t be any worse than what I’m thinking of right now…

“How would you like to become an MI9 agent?”


	29. Decisions, Decisions...

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I sit gaping at the Head. I blink my eyes several times, as if I didn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Y-you want me to be an MI9 agent?” I ask.

“That’s right,” says the Head, nodding.

This has to be a dream – a hallucination. There’s no way this is happening in real life. I must be dreaming. I know, I’ll slap myself. If this is a dream, I can’t feel pain. I slap both of my cheeks hard simultaneously with the palms of my hands.

“Ah!” I cry, and then hiss because it stings.

“Miss Brownstone, are you all right?” the Head asks with concern.

“I’m good,” I say, giving a thumbs-up. OK, so this is not a dream. This is all real. “So you really want me, the Cat – the mysterious, credit-grabbing, cat-costumed heroine – to work for MI9 as a secret agent?”

“Yes.”

I blink again. “But why?”

“MI9 could do with someone like you in our agency. You have the determination and ambition. You’re a peak athlete, an extremely skilled gymnast and hand-to-hand combatant, who can coordinate their body with balance, flexibility, and dexterity easily, and you’re a marksman. Plus, you speak several different languages, which makes you the perfect person for the job. Also… now this is going to sound embarrassing, but… I’m a bit of a fan of the Cat and I’ve wanted to have her – or you should I say – come work for MI9 for a while now.”

My eyes open wide in surprise. “You… you have?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve been following your activities as the Cat in the papers for quite some time and I’ve read your file reports, and it seems that we both share a deep commitment: stopping crimes and capturing criminals, as well as keeping the public safe. We need each other’s help, Miss Brownstone. If you do end up joining us, we could exercise our power together to, like you said, Miss Brownstone, fight crime and diffuse humanitarian crises all over London.” The Head stands up and walks over to me. “So, what do you say? Would you like to join MI9 and become a spy?”

I stare at the Head. This is the greatest opportunity that been handed to me on a plate since Zeke asked me to become the Cat. If I say yes, I’ll have to work alongside Frank and the others, who may not be in the forgiving mood after everything I’ve done to them. But if I say no, then it’s goodbye greasy takeaway food, sweets and chocolates and hello spam and gruel because I could be spending the rest of my life in prison.

Decisions, decisions…

I open my mouth to speak, when I hear a loud voice saying, “You cannot be serious!”

“What the…?” I say. I turn to the door to see Stark marching into the office, his face looking like thunder.

“Ma’am, you’re seriously not considering in letting the Cat come work with us, are you?” he says.

“Stark! What the hell are you doing listening to a private conversation?” the Head demands.

He blushes. “Well, umm… I…I… I used the whisper upgrade on the Spy-Pod to eavesdrop.”

“You did _what_?”

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry. But when I heard that you wanted to see the Cat, I assumed that you were going to severely punish her, like send her off to a nastier prison or erase her memory.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Besides, we could do with someone like Miss Brownstone on our side. She has the reflexes, agility, and stamina of an Olympic level acrobat. She is physically very strong and athletic and has great physical endurance. She is an excellent street fighter capable of taking on several assailants and incapacitating them without being injured herself. And she is trained in several martial arts styles – she’s a brilliant asset to our organization.”

“She may fight on the side of justice, but her methods and phenomenal track record for combating crime and targeting criminals embarrasses us by comparison.”

“You may be sceptical of Miss Brownstone’s vigilante methods, but her methods always get the job done. Who knows, maybe you can learn a thing or two from her.”

“But, Ma’am –”

“May I remind you, Stark that I’m the Head of this service, and whatever I say goes. So if I tell you to go after the Grandmaster in your vest and boxers, you better be damn ready to do so. Is that understood?”

Stark gulps. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” The Head turns to me and smiles. “Take all the time you need to think about it, Miss Brownstone.”

I nod. “OK.”

The Head looks up towards the door and back at me again. “In the meantime, while you’re thinking about your answer, there are some things you need to sort out with someone.”

My heart turns over. I know exactly who she means.

“Let’s go, Stark,” says the Head, and she and Stark exit the room, closing the door behind them, leaving me alone with Frank. Or maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s Rose, Carrie or Oscar – or all three of them.

“Jenny?”

It’s Frank.

Crap.

I really don’t wanna face him, considering that I look like a reject from the TV show _Misfits_. But I’m gonna have to.

I stand up shakily. It’s time to face the music. I take a deep breath and turn around. But when I do face Frank, I jump in alarm.

It takes me a moment to recognize him. His hair is tousled and standing on end. There are dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes and his cheeks are puffy, as if he has been crying. Also, the buttons of his shirt are in all the wrong holes and the tails of the shirt is tucked out of his trousers. He looks completely and utterly dishevelled. He looks worse off than I am! We stare at each other. We both go pink.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” I reply.

There’s a little pause. I raise a hand and rub the back of my neck as my eyes are searching the floor, while Frank sweeps a hand back through his messy hair.

“Listen, Jen –” he starts.

“Before you say anything,” I cut in, “I would like to say something. I am so so so so so so so so so so so sorry for any and all trouble I’ve caused. I’m sorry for slapping you when you wanted to explained your side of the story. I’m sorry for punching you when you found out I was the Cat and I needed to escape. And I’m really, truly, very sorry for not letting in to see me. On top of that, I am so so sorry for all the lying that I did, the sneaking around and the silly excuses that I came up with. I am so not worthy of you. You’re sweet, kind and oh-so wonderful, and you deserve someone who is honest, loyal and steadfast, with the homemaking talents on the level of Martha Stewart. It’s a shame I’m not that person, and for that, I’m sorry. Now that that’s out of the way, you can scream, shout, yell or do whatever you want with me. It’s OK – I can take it.”

I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for Frank to do his worse. Like I said, I can take it. I can hear footsteps coming up to me. Then they stop. Then, without warning, he pulls me to him and wraps his around me, pressing me against his chest. He’s holding me so tightly, I can barely breathe. Suddenly, I feel his lips push against mine, like… like… he’s kissing me. Wait a minute – he’s kissing me! What’s going on there? Why is he kissing me? I’m so confused. But that thought is pushed out of my head when Frank’s lips are pressing hard against mine. Harder, harder until the kiss actually hurts.

Uttering a low, startled cry, I begin to pull back. But I’m overcome by a rush of feeling.

I return the kiss. His hands move to the back of my head. He presses my face against his.

My heart is pounding. This kiss is never going to end.

Eventually, it does. I push myself away from him, my hands on his chest. He lets me go, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Frank,” I pant, “what the hell was that?”

“That was me forgiving you,” he says.

“You’re forgiving me?” I’m now suddenly confused and conflicted. “I-I don’t understand. After everything I’ve done to you – Rose, Oscar and Carrie included – you’re forgiving me? Just like that? Why?”

Frank goes into his pocket and brings out a black device.

“What is that?” I ask.

“It’s a Spy-Pod,” Frank says. “A standard issue gadget used by all MI9 agents. It also comes with this…” He pulls a mini satellite dish from his pocket. “A whisper upgrade – it’s a device that lets you hear things from up to a kilometre away. I used this to listen in on your conversation with the Head on Friday.”

“You used a bugging device on me? Oh, my God, what the hell is this – MI9 or News International?!”

“I’m sorry, Jen. Please don’t be cross. But when the Head told me that I couldn’t see you, I had to find out why. I needed to know the reason, also… I wanted to hear your voice again.”

My lips are still throbbing. I can still taste him; still feel him pressing me to him so tightly.

“So… so you heard everything that I told the Head? How I became the Cat and all whatnot?” I ask.

“Everything,” says Frank. “You should know that I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” I ask. I taste blood on my lips. Such a hard kiss. “You’re not even mad that you found out that I was the Cat?”

“Of course not. I was just shocked and surprised, but I’m not mad at you. And I most certainly don’t hate you – I can never hate you.”

I let out a relieved sigh. “Well, that’s a relief.”

There’s another little pause.

“So do you really think I sound like a posh person called Peregrine Carruthers?” says Frank.

I shrug. “Well, let’s just say that how you speak makes David Cameron sound working-class.”

Frank grins at me, the grin I find irresistible. I smile back – something I haven’t done in weeks. It’s just like old times.

He takes my hands. “Darling Jenny, I am so so so so so so so so so so so _so_ sorry for not telling you sooner that I was an MI9 agent. I’m also sorry for listening in on your private conversation with the Head. On top of that, I am so so sorry for all the lying that I did, the sneaking around and the silly excuses that I came up with. I never, ever, _ever_ meant to hurt you. Can we please rewind right back and start all over again?”

My eyes widen. “Wha…? You want us to start again?”

Frank nods. “More than anything in the world.”

“Bu-but what about the sugar and spice and everything nice Martha Stewart-esque girlfriend who can make gourmet meals, breakfast treats and pineapple bran muffins?”

“I could have her… but she’s not the Cat, is she? She’s not someone who wears an ultra-sexy skintight catsuit and fights crime, is she? She’s not someone who’s a beautiful, curvaceous, drop-dead gorgeous woman who’s confident and assertive, as well as kind and caring, is she? She’s not someone who can make me my heart go aflutter whenever I see her, make me go weak at the knees whenever she talks or blows my mind whenever we kiss, is she?”

I swallow as I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. “I… I do that to you?”

“All… the… time…” He covers my mouth again in a long, clinging kiss. “You’re the one that I want, Jenny. I don’t want anybody else.”

I stare at Frank, my eyes shining with hope through my tears. “You really mean that?”

He smiles. “You’re the only girl in the world for me. I love you.”

“Oh, Frank!” I say – and I burst into tears. He puts his arms around me while I cry on his shoulder. But I’m not upset – I’m crying because I’m happy. Frank has forgiven me _and_ we’ve made up! Not to mention that I’m being offered the job of a lifetime. I feel like I’ve won the Lottery.

I pull back and smile at him. “Oh, Frank, I love you, too. I don’t want us to ever be apart again.”

“It’s a deal,” he smiles back, gently wiping away my tears with his thumb.

My eyes trail to the door. “OK, guys I know you’ve heard everything with the whisper upgrade. You can come in now.”

The door flies open, and Rose, Oscar and Carrie come rushing in. They run over to me and we all hug.

“I’m so sorry, guys – for everything,” I say.

“It’s all forgotten,” says Oscar.

“Yeah – we forgive you,” says Carrie. “We’re just so happy that you and Frank are back together.”

“So am I,” I reply.

“So have you decided what you’re gonna do?” Rose asks. “Are you gonna join us?”

“I don’t know. I mean this is a huge opportunity – massive even. What am I gonna tell my handler? He doesn’t even know that I’m here.”

Suddenly, an alarm begins to blare loudly and the room starts to flash red.

“What’s going on?” I yell.

“There’s being a security breach!” the Head replies. “Someone’s broken into MI9!” She goes to her desk and the remote to open up her cabinet that displays a large monitor. The screen comes on and shows CCTV footage of a large in the side of the building and a small powered-armour hovercraft roaming the corridors.

I gape at the monitor, open-mouthed. “Oh, my God. It can’t be.”

“Jenny – what’s wrong?” Frank asks.

“I think – and it’s a pretty big think – I may know who the person that broke into MI9 is.”

“You do?” everyone chorus.

“There’s just a chance, but I think I do know. Can anybody pinpoint the location of that hovercraft?”

“Give me a sec,” says Rose. She brings out her Spy-Pod and opens it, revealing an architectural structure of the building and a flashing red light. “They’re on level eight in the west wing.”

“You better lead the way, then,” I say.

We all leave the office and head to a nearby elevator. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but we all get in and travel down to level eight.

When do get off the lift at level eight, we run down the long corridor and turn a corner – and stop, where we’re confronted with multiple number of SWAT officers who are firing at the blue and silver hovercraft, but that’s deemed useless – as there’s a circular bubble around the hovercraft protecting it from the attacks.

“Holy frick on a stick,” I say, astonished. I can’t believe he’s doing this. What is he – crazy? I’ve got to put a stop to this before he gets himself killed. “Frank, give me your phone,” I say. He passes his phone to me and I punch in the numbers.

The person who I suspect picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Zeke? Please tell me you’re at home playing video games instead of breaking into MI9 and challenging the SWAT team,” I say.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not…” he says. “But I am… breaking into MI9 and challenging the SWAT team.”

“Zeke! What the hell are you doing?! You’re gonna get arrested – or worse, killed!”

“Not when I’m in the protective bubble. Besides, I’m rescuing you. Just give me second – you may have to run for cover as I’m going to use sleeping gas on these guys and have you out here and out of the country within the hour.”

“Zeke, you have exactly five seconds to surrender, or so help me… I’m gonna tell your mother.”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t dare! You don’t have the bottle.”

“Try me.” I cover the mouthpiece. “Could I borrow someone else’s phone, please?” The Head takes out her phone and hands it to me. “Thanks. Zeke, I’m dialling the number.”

“You’re bluffing,” he says.

I dial the number to show that I’m not bluffing. I hold the phone up and press the call button because I know that Zeke has surveillance in his hovercraft.

“It’s ringing,” I sing down the phone.

“And it’s gonna stay ringing,” says Zeke. “There’s no way my mother will answer an unknown numb–”

“Hi, Carmen! It’s Jenny – Jenny Brownstone,” I say.

“Oh, Jenny – hi!” she says. “How are you? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m fine – I’ve just being busy.”

“What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Zeke.”

I hear Carmen sigh. “What’s he done this time?”

“Oh, Carmen, you wouldn’t believe what he done now.” I smile slyly. “He’s only just gone and…”

“OK, OK, you win! I surrender!” Zeke exclaims. “Just please don’t tell my mum!”

“Brought you tickets to that West End musical you like,” I end up saying. “What was it – _Mamma Mia_?”

“Aww! That’s my favourite musical. That is so nice of him.”

“It was, wasn’t it? He’s such a good boy, isn’t he? He thought after all the work you and Denzel have done, you two deserved a bit of fun.”

“What a sweet gesture. Tell him I said thanks.”

“Oh, I will, Carm. I gotta go now, but I’ll see you soon. Bye!” I hang up the phone and pass it back to the Head. “You can call the SWAT team off. Our little raider is surrendering.”

The Head does what I say and tells the SWAT officers to fall back. They stop firing, but still have their guns pointing to the hovercraft. The bubble around the hovercraft disappears as it lowers itself onto the ground. Then, the door opens, and out steps the twenty-year-old, fawn-skinned, brown-eyed, dark curly mopped-haired boy-genius, Zeke Williams. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt, blue-coloured jeans and light purple Converse shoes. He has a light purple bandanna around his neck, a beige beanie, a dark blue retro watch and oversized black horn-rimmed glasses.

I hand Frank his phone back and march up to Zeke.

“Oh, er, hi Jen,” he says nervously. “Umm… you’re looking lovely today.”

“Ezekiel Russell Williams, what the hell is the matter with you?!” I yell. “Are you absolutely and completely _bonkers_?!”

“I’m sorry, Jen! Look, I know you’re upset…”

I scoff. “Understatement of the bloody century!”

“But I can explain.”

“Well, go on, then! Explain.”

“When you called me on Friday to tell me about the mission, I knew that something went wrong. You told me that nothing happened – but your body language spoke for you. After we hang up, I used the homing beacon that I planted in the communicator to follow your movements. My worst fears were confirmed when you flew over to MI9 headquarters. And when I saw that your communicator was still there the next day, I knew that you were either arrested or you turned yourself in. So I thought that I would be the Wonderful Prince Charming and rescue you.”

“And you decided to do that by creating a giant hole in a building?!”

“Again, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the damages. Oh, Jenny, I’m so so _so_ sorry. Please forgive me.” Zeke puts his hands together in a silly praying gesture. “Please please please pretty please!”

My expression softens. Even though he’s a genius, Zeke can also be a right idiot. But he also means well.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I forgive you.”

“Yay!” Zeke cries, hugging me.

I shake my head. I forget to mention that he can be a bit of a big kid.

I notice that the SWAT officers have lowered their guns – that must be down to the Head. I turn to face her.

“I hate to break up this little forgiving fest, but would you like to tell me who your friend is,” she says.

“I’ll be glad to,” I say. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Zeke Williams – genius-level intellect and inventor. You may also know him as Mr. Zed. He’s responsible for briefing me on my missions, as well as providing me with my gadgets.” I turn to Zeke. “These are my friends… and Stark.”

Stark narrows his eyes but says nothing.

“This is Francine Fairchild – she’s the Head of MI9. Those three kids are my students from St Hope’s: Rose Gupta, Oscar Cole and Carrie Stewart. And finally…” I go over to Frank and link my arm with his. “This is my wonderful, lovely, glorious MI9 agent of a boyfriend, Frank London,” I say, and I give him a kiss on the cheek.

Everyone says their hellos to Zeke.

“It’s nice to finally meet you all in person,” he says, coming up to us. “Especially you, Frank. Jen talked a great deal about you. You know… before she found out you worked for MI9.”

Frank blushes. “You should know that I didn’t mean to lie to her,” he says. “I was going to her.”

I turn to him. “You were?”

He nods. “I was going to tell you on prom night. I was sick and tired of having to sneak around, lie to you and put you in danger. So, in order to protect you, I was going to leave MI9.”

I start to tear up. “You were willing to leave your job… to protect me?”

“Yeah. But somehow, you managed to find out before I could tell you.”

“That may be down to me,” says Zeke. “The day you guys had prom, I saw CCTV footage of you and the spy kids coming out of the caretaker’s storage cupboard at school. I did some digging and I found out that there’s a base hidden under the school. So I did more research and saw that that base is an MI9 base. So I hacked into MI9’s system and saw the files on Frank, which I showed to Jen.”

“But that’s impossible!” Rose cries. “Your computer should have been infected with the virus I placed within the firewall – to stop anyone from hacking the database and stealing information. How did you get past it?”

“Well, what can I say? I like a challenge. Also, you should never base your three-digit passwords on the IQs of scientists, Noble Prize winners and people from Mensa.”

Rose blushes with embarrassment.

“But why didn’t Zeke find out about this earlier?” I ask. “Why did it take so long?”

“Normally, we would take a photo of an empty corridor and place it in from the security camera to make people think that it was an empty corridor – to make it easy for us to access the cupboard,” Oscar explains.

“But since we had exams all throughout June, we couldn’t do any missions, so the photo was taken down,” says Carrie.

“And when the exams finished, I’d forgotten to put it back up,” says Frank.

“Ah!” I ah-ed. “This also explains why you kept running off to do your ‘chores’ and why Rose, Oscar and Carrie kept skipping classes.”

“Exactly.”

I nod my head. Everything makes so much sense now.

“You should probably know that I was gonna tell you that I was the Cat,” I tell Frank.

“Really?”

I nod. “I was going to tell you on prom night. And like you, I was sick and tired and having to sneak around and lie to you. But then, Zeke told me about you and I decided to not tell you.”

“Until he found out on Friday, when he tried to capture you,” says Carrie.

“What?!” Zeke exclaims. “How did he find out?”

“He confronted me in the sewers when I tried to escape,” I say. “We got into a little scrape, I got distracted, and Frank kicked me, knocking my mask off. That’s what I was so upset about when you called me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you flee the country!”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to be in much trouble as I am – or was. Plus, if I ran, I would run forever. I’d have to keep looking over my shoulder and jump from one city to the next. So I came up with a plan to let MI9 think that I was fleeing the country by planting a tracking device on someone at the airport. And while everyone was there, I flew over to their headquarters and quietly turned myself in.”

“It was there that Miss Brownstone told me how she became the Cat,” says the Head. “You have trained her well, Mr. Williams.”

“Oh… please,” he says, waving the Head off, pretending to be embarrassed when actually, he’s loving the praise.

“You have trained her so well, that I’ve been thinking about recruiting her as an MI9 agent.”

Zeke freezes. “You what?” He turns to me. “Jen?”

“The Head called me in her office about ten minutes ago and asked me if I wanted to become a spy.”

“But surely you’re going to say no, right?” He sees my hesitated face. “Right?”

“I, I… I don’t know, Zeke.”

I really _don’t_ know. I mean it’s a huge opportunity, but at the same time, I don’t wanna leave Zeke. He’s the reason I became the Cat. He made me the person I am now – minus what has happened in the last sixty or so hours. But he’s also my best friend…

I know what I have to do.

I turn to the Head. “Ma’am, I’ve made a decision,” I say. “I have decided that I would like to join MI9…”

Zeke bows his head.

“…On the condition that you hire Zeke as MI9’s resident scientist and technician,” I finish.

“What?” he says as he snaps his head up, his eyes wide open. “A-are you serious?”

“I am totally 100% serious. Zeke, other than Rose, you are the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. You’re an inventive genius with an IQ of 190 who’s an expert in the fields of mathematics, physics, chemistry, and computer science. You began college at the age of eleven, started graduate studies at fourteen, and earned a Master of Engineering degree at the age of sixteen – all before obtaining a driver’s licence! As well as my gadgets, I’ve seen you conceive, design and build highly-advanced mechanical devices like advanced fighter-jets, mind control devices, a weather control device, robots and androids, clones and a shrinking pod, as well as an assortment of guns, including lasers, rocket launchers, and crossbows. You also speak various languages like Finnish, Spanish, French, Mandarin Chinese, Persian and Arabic. Not to mention Middle-earth Elvish from the _Lord of the Rings/Hobbit_ books, Klingon from _Star Trek_ and Parseltongue from the _Harry Potter_ books! And you’ve got hacking talents, meaning you can access government and top secret sources easily without having your computer been infected with a virus or being caught.

Zeke, we’re a team – we’re partners. Wherever I go, I want you to be there with me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be stuck in some tiny office cubicle, with git-faced miserly of a prick as my boss. Since I became the Cat, my life has changed for the better: I’ve got a cool job, made some awesome friends along the way and met the most fabulous man in the world. And that’s all thanks to you. You have cared for me and looked after me during my time as the Cat, and now it’s time that I returned the favour.” I turn back to the Head. “So, Ma’am, if you want me, you’ll have to take in Zeke, too. You either take us as a two-pack or it’s a no-pack.”

There’s silence after my little speech. Everyone looks to Head. What will she say?

“Hmmm,” she says. She glances at me, then Zeke, then back at me again – and she smiles. “Miss Brownstone, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Zeke gasps. “No way. Are you serious?” he says. “This isn’t a dream, is it? Good God, I may have to slap myself.”

“I can assure you that this is very real and I am serious,” says the Head. “The two of you together have single-handedly solves more cases and captured criminals than the whole of MI9 and the Metropolitan Police put together. With Mr. Williams and his great intelligence and talent of inventing gadgets and weapons, and Miss Brownstone and her extreme athletic skills and extensive reflexes, the two of you make an unstoppable team. You’ll be a very useful asset to the organization. Congratulations and welcome to MI9… agents.”

Zeke and I stare at the Head with our mouths open. I can hardly believe it! I’m an MI9 agent!

Zeke and I cheer and hug each other.

“Omigosh!” I say. “I’m an MI9 agent!”

“Oh, _my_ gosh! I’m an MI9 scientist and technician!” says Zeke.

I let out an arm so the others can join in on the hug. I can imagine that Stark isn’t joining in. He’s probably rolling his eyes and making a sour face, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not gonna let him spoil things. I’m paying too much attention being happy about working with my friends, side-by-side.

“Oh, Ma’am, thank you so much!” I say when I break the hug. “You have no idea how thrilled I am.”

“Now that you’re an agent, you’re gonna need some gadgets,” says the Head. “Follow me.”

I, along with everyone, follow the Head back to her office. She goes to the cabinet and brings out two gadgets that all too familiar to me.

“My communicator and my Jetpack Backpack!” I gasp. “I can’t believe you kept them. Thank you.”

I take the gadgets from the Head and slip on my communicator. I open up the communicator and pressing the blue button, I change into my catsuit, along with mask and cat ears.

Everyone, except Zeke and Stark, stare in awe, not believing what they just saw and all talk at once.

“Wow!” Carrie whispers.

“That’s amazing,” Rose gasps.

“Awesome,” Oscar murmurs.

“Incredible,” says Frank.

I giggle at their expressions. “I’m gonna miss being the Cat,” I sigh. “It’s the end of an era. We had some good times. It’s time to say goodbye to the purr-fectly mischievous crime-fighter…” I take off my mask and cat ears, and unzip my catsuit to show a little cleavage. “…and say hello to Jenny Brownstone – secret agent.”

“Congratulations, Jen,” says Frank, kissing my forehead.

“Thanks,” I smile. “And my first order of business is this: have a long, luxurious bubble bath – or shower. I mean, I smell so bad I could bring people out of comas, so that’s first on the agenda. Secondly, I need get some food inside me as I have lost some weight since Friday and lastly, I need some fresh clothes – there’s no way I’m walking the streets of London looking like a zombie from _Misfits_.”

“You can use the showers in the gym facilities,” says the Head. “Afterwards, we need to take down your identity formations – fingerprints, retinal recognition, etc. And after that, Agent London will show you to your other headquarters – the one located under St Hope’s.”

“Excellent. But before he does that, he needs to show me the way to gym – because one, I don’t the way and two…” I turn to Frank, “you need a shower, too. Because let’s be honest, you do smell quite musky.”

Frank blushes a very deep red and leads me out of the office and to the gym.

And as we walk, I think about all the new missions and shenanigans I’d be doing. But rather than doing it on my own, I’ll be with Rose, Oscar, Carrie and Frank. It’s a whole new adventure – and I can’t wait to get started!


	30. The Real Frank London

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s around quarter past eleven when Jenny and I arrive at St Hope’s. We’re here because I have to show her the secret base located underneath the school. The reason for that is because last Friday, I discovered that Jen was the crime-fighting costumed heroine, the Cat. After her cover was blown, she decided to hand herself in to MI9 rather than go on the run – which we all thought that she was going to do as we tracked her down to the airport and thought that she was in disguise, but it turned out that she placed a tracking device on a civilian to make us think that she was fleeing the country. Anyway, after spending the entire weekend in the cells, the Head of MI9 gave Jenny the opportunity of a lifetime of recruiting her as an MI9 agent, to which Jen accepted. At the same time, she and I made up, promising each other to never be apart and to not keep secrets from each other (despite being spies, but I think she means outside of MI9).

Anyway, when we arrive at St Hope’s, Jenny activates her cloaking device, rendering her and myself invisible. The reason being because its teacher training day and the teaching staff – including Mrs King – will be at school, meaning we’ll have to be quiet in going through the corridors and try not to bump into anyone – especially Mrs King.

After we scuttle through corridors, duck past teachers and turn a corner, we reach the caretaker store cupboard.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” says Jenny – and our bodies become visible.

“Wow,” I murmur, patting my arms and torso. “This is incredible.”

“One of the many awesome functions of the watch-communicator,” she grins. “Now, what happens here?”

I slide out the light switch next to the storage door. “You place your thumb on the biometric panel. Your access to the cupboard will be granted when the light flashes green.”

Jenny does what I say – she puts her thumb on the panel and the light flashes green. She opens the storage cupboard door and steps inside. I follow after her, closing the door behind me.

“What next?” Jenny asks.

“Just pull the lever on the mop handle, and the lift will take us down to HQ,” I tell her.

Jenny pulls the lever towards her, and after five seconds of the alarm sounding, the floor opens up and the lift takes us down to base. When we reach HQ, the doors part open. I turn to see Jenny standing frozen, staring at the secret base in stunned silence.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I grin at her expression. “Let’s step inside, shall we?” I say. I take her hand and we walk into HQ. I watch Jenny’s face as she continues to gape at HQ, looking around her surroundings. “So, what do you think?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer for a long moment. “This is… so completely… unbelievably… _cool_!” she cries finally. “I mean to think that underneath the school is a secret base. This is like me visiting Zeke for the first time all over again! This is really… wow!”

“I’m so glad you like it,” I smile.

“Like it? I bloody love it! All this time while I thought you were guttering leaves, you were actually down here, saving Britain – along with Rose, Carrie and Oscar.” Jenny sits on the swivel chair by the computer and whirls it round and round. “This is truly amazing.” She stops spinning, shaking her head to stop her dizziness. “So, what’s everybody’s role here? Who does what?”

“Well, as you know, Rose is the genius and intellect. She’s the most practical of the group. She uses her intelligence to create plans and diversions so that she, Oscar and Carrie can easily capture the villains,” I explain. “And she’s a bit of a technician – she’s either inventing a gadget or conducting experiments. Oscar is our surveillance and undercover operative – he’s basically he human chameleon. He can blend into any environment. He also speaks fourteen languages. And Carrie is the martial arts expert, which makes her the strongest in hand-to-hand combat. And, as you already know, she’s a gymnast.”

“Cool,” Jenny nods. “And what about you? I know that you’re their team leader, but what do you do when the other three are off doing their missions?”

I lightly blush and rub the back of my neck. “Well, um… I’m a bit of a, er… scientist and a, er… inventor.”

“Really?”

I nod.

“That is so cool,” says Jenny. “My boyfriend, the genius.”

I blush redder.

“Do you have any gadgets or weapons that you invented that I can see?” she asks.

“Well, I do have something that you can see.” I go to the lab and bring out a black file from the cupboard. “These are the technical drawings that I have done of all the gadgets and weapons I’ve designed,” I say, handing the file to Jenny.

She opens up the file and looks at my sketches. “Wow, they’re really amazing,” she says, grinning.

I blush again. “You think so?”

“Duh! These are all fantastic inventions. The Aero-Slo Spray Can, the Hologram Projecting Earrings, even this one – the Soap Bubble Prison Gun. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“You have. Remember a few months ago, you were investigating the disappearances of the students from Britannia High?”

“Yeah, I remember. I went in the guise of a student – and I called myself Simone Connors.”

“Hm. Well, we were also assigned to that case, too. Oscar and Carrie went undercover as students named Jon and Cami.”

Jenny has a little think, trying to remember. Then she lets out a gasp. “No way! That was them?”

I nod. “Oscar used the Prison Gun on Amber Rubin before she could do anything to you or Lily.”

“Oh yeah, I remember it now. I asked Oscar where he got the gun from and he said that his uncle bought it from Japan. Part of me didn’t believe him, but then again, Japan does make the best technology that’s out of this world. Wow, I can’t believe that that was Oscar. I hardly recognized him with that dark wig. You’re right, Frank, he is a chameleon.” Jenny continues to flip through the pages. “What’s this one? The Age-Deceiving Pill?”

“One of my best inventions. The Age-Deceiving Pill has the ability to change the outer appearance of the person who takes them, to different age by an illusion. The red pills render the user older, while the blue pills make the user younger.”

“Whoa! That’s amazing!”

“I should point out that you have seen the effects of the ADP.”

“I have? With who?”

“Remember last Christmas when Ellis Molinelli kidnapped you and Livi?”

“How can I forget?”

“Well, after Rose located you in at the Rembrandt Hotel in Knightsbridge, I couldn’t risk sending her, Oscar and Carrie in there without you recognizing them, so I gave them the ADP to make them look older.”

Jenny’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, that was them? I knew they looked familiar! I sort of had a feeling that I’ve seen them before.”

“And remember Tom Stone?”

“The one that the Four Horsemen were after because he witnessed a murder?”

“The very same. We were assigned to protect him from Vargas and the other Horsemen, so we used the ADP on him to make him younger so the Horsemen wouldn’t recognise him.”

“He went under the pseudonym of Rome Black; a ‘student’ from St Michael’s who transferred to St Hope’s because the school had a rat infestation. I remember. I had Zeke look up the name in the school records when I saw the hoodies hang around the school gates. When the name didn’t show up, we knew that he was the one that the Horsemen were after. I saved him when the Horsemen came to the school and tried to kidnap him – only for me to be kidnapped myself.”

“Mmm. I thought I was gonna lose you that day. When Stark told me you were shot, my heart completely stopped. I thought that you were dead. You have no idea how relieved I was when I found out that you only suffered a graze.”

“It was just as well that Vargas was a crappy shooter. If I hadn’t shot back, I would be…”

“But you’re not, are you? You’re a survivor. You’re real tough. And I’m glad that you’re right here, sitting in front of me.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Jenny says, smiling. She continues to thumb through the pages of my file, until she finds something that catches her eye. “Hey, what’s this? ‘Frank + Jenny 4eva’?”

My eyes widen in horror as I realize that Jenny is looking at the scribbles that I did when she first came to St Hope’s.

“‘Frank loves Jenny’? ‘Frenny 4eva’?” My heart is thudding as she’s reading the notes. What must she think of me? “Oh, my God! This is so sweet! This has to be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Aww, you’ve drawn a huge picture of a heart with my name written over and over again inside. And around the heart, you’ve drawn little hearts and flowers… oh, and look!” Jenny shows me the drawing that I did of her and me kissing. “That is so adorable! I love it!”

I shift uncomfortably as my cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Aw, now I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry,” says Jenny. She places the file on the computer and walks over to me.

“I suppose you must think of me as some childish idiot,” I mutter, staring down at the floor.

“Hmm, not really. I see you more as a… hopeless romantic.”

I lift my head. “Really?”

“Oh yes. I see you as someone who’s kind… gentle… sentimental… and loving. And that’s the kind of person I’d like to be with.”

Jenny leans close. Our noses touch. She brushes her lips with my own gently. Then she does it again and again. I lean forward and kiss her back. I toy with her hair, brushing back the strands behind her ear. I pull Jenny against my chest. I kiss her as if I never want to let go. She slips her arms around my neck and holds me tight, kissing me slowly at first, then with increasing fervour. I’m pressed so close against her that I have an erection that is making a tent in my trousers.

Jenny notices. Pressing those luscious petals to my neck, she licks my earlobe with her lovely tongue, thoroughly enjoying the taste of sweat and cologne.

“Looks like someone’s excited,” she purrs.

I close my eyes as she gyrates her hips and nibbles my ear. The feel of her body against my bulge is arousing me to no end. My cock aches to escape out of my trousers.

“So Frank, do you want me to suck your cock?” she asks.

A moan escapes my lips when I feel Jenny’s hand squeeze my cock through my trousers.

I start to grind my hardness against her hand, relishing in the pleasure I’m feeling.

“Tell me you want me to suck your cock,” she commands.

I’m breathing heavily that we’re both in this position right now.

I’ve dreamt about it and fantasized about it for the longest time… And there’s no way I’m passing this opportunity up.

“I want you to suck my cock,” I say breathlessly.

Not waiting another second, Jenny gets on her knees and undoes my trousers and shoves them, along with my boxers to my ankles. My erection bounces into view, standing proudly at attention, and wanting to be touched. She wrapped her tiny black-gloved hand around my cock and begins to stroke it slowly.

“You have such a beautiful cock, Frank. It’s so nice and big,” she says as she licks her lips.

I watch as Jenny licks the tip of my erection in a slow seductive manner, tasting the pre-cum that’s dripping from me, and then hungrily licks along the length of it right to my ball sack where she starts to suck on one of my balls. She massages her tongue over my hanging balls as she gently jerks me off. My cock responds by expanding and hardening until it becomes a thick, veined monster. Then she begins sucking and slurping the surface of my appendage.

“Mmm… Mmm… Mmm!” she moans lustfully.

I groan and feel my knees grow weak as her lips slide up and down my hardness. Her mouth is wet and feel amazing, rubbing all over my pulsating cock. This is better than I ever imagined. She keeps sucking and sucking until she slides my cock out of her mouth. I frown, hoping she isn’t done.

“You like this, Frank? You like me sucking you off?” she asks, her hot breath brushing my saliva-covered cock.

“Yes, don’t stop,” I whisper.

Her mouth returns to sucking. My breath is short once more, for her flooding mouth is latching onto me something fierce. Swirling and slicking, oiling and polishing my shaft in a slow, insatiable rhythm, she’s a hungry python, eagerly engulfing its prey, the fluidity of her head bob instinctive. I love the way she relaxes her jaw and throat muscles while maintaining her slobber.

This is all too much for me and I can’t hold my orgasm any longer. The pressure starts to build up in my balls and I can feel the cum ready to burst out. My hands grab a handful of her black hair as my hips start to lunge forward, causing my cock to drive in and out of her mouth like a jackhammer.

All I can hear is her moaning loudly in ecstasy as I thrust into her mouth. Faster and faster, my cock goes. I’m so deep inside her mouth I can feel the tip of my cock going down her throat. My balls start to slap against her chin and feeling my explosion reaching the point of no return, like engineer Scotty says on _Star Trek_ : I don’t think I can hold it any longer.

“J-Jen… I’m about to… Oh, shit…”

A spurt of white lava leaves me… then another… three times… four… All I hear is her gulping… my breaths… so short… my tip… so sensitive… Please stop sucking it… No, don’t… Yes, do… oh, shit… I can’t trembling… regroup, mind… body, stop shaking…

I look down at Jenny; her mouth is glistening and a few drops of cum has leaked onto her chin.

She wipes her chin, and licks the remainder of the cum off.

“Mmmm, delicious,” she comments as she smacks her lips in delight.

I’m so frozen with pleasure that I’m speechless. I haven’t cum like that in a long time. Jenny is most definitely one of a kind. She pulls up my boxers and trousers and does up my flies. Then she stands up and gazes deeply into my eyes.

She whispers, so quietly, so shyly, “Did you like it?”

I don’t reply. Instead, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her towards me and reward her with a kiss. I slip my tongue between her soft lips that took my phallus to heaven and back so I can taste her sweet, cum-flavoured mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says after pulling away from the kiss.

“You’re damn right that was,” I say, my hands caressing her hips. “You are amazing, Jenny Brownstone. You are the most amazing person ever, and there’s no way I am ever letting you go.”

“Ditto,” she smiles, pecking my lips.

“Now, how about I return the favour?” I say slowly, trailing my hands to her fully rounded buttocks.

“Maybe next time,” she says, stopping my hands with hers. “We should probably go. Despite what I had right now, I’m quite hungry and I know you are too.”

I don’t let the look of disappoint appear on my face. “Sure,” I say, our bodies separating. “Let’s go.”

Jenny takes my hand and leads me to the lift. When we leave HQ, she activates her cloaking device – and we become invisible again. We leave the storage cupboard and leave the school the way we came. When we reach the school gates, she deactivates the cloaking device.

“Huh, I’m still in my catsuit,” she says, looking down at herself. “Time to fix up.” She opens her communicator and with the press of a button, she changes out of her black catsuit to an oversized beige-coloured cardigan over a plain white vest and green denim shorts. “That’s better,” she says, looking down at herself now. Jenny glances up at me and then back to her communicator. “I wonder if this works on the opposite gender. There’s only one way to find out.”

I begin to protest, but she’s already fiddling with the device and in a flash, I’m dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt over a black T-shirt and dark jeans.

“Hey, it’s works!” says Jenny. “Zeke must have installed men’s clothes as well as women’s. And my, my, don’t you look handsome?”

I look down at myself. “Wow. I do look good.”

“Yeah! You look good enough to eat – which will be the sad case if we don’t any proper food inside me. Now let’s go!”

There’s a café nearby that we go to and have an early lunch. While we’re waiting for the food to arrive, Jen tells me about the perks of having the watch-communicator. She tells me the times she’s snuck into celebrity events – from red carpet premieres to galas to parties to backstage concerts and festivals – either invisible or in disguise. She even told me that she’s used the watch-communicator to sneak into historic events like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s wedding. She and Zeke went to Westminster Abbey using the cloaking device and then went to the private dinner in disguises. At first, I’m wary of the situation, until she shows me the photos on her phone – and she has more on her laptop. As well as sneaking into the Royal wedding, she also managed to sneak into the hospital where Prince George was born – disguised as a nurse – and took some pictures of the future king, using Camera Contact Lenses. The only time she didn’t need to blag her way into a place was when she got to go to the Olympic opening ceremony (her university gave away tickets to the first thirty people that entered). But after that, she used the watch-communicator to slink herself and Zeke into the gymnastics, the athletics, swimming and diving, and the closing ceremony.

And as we eat, I start telling her my adventures in MI9. I even tell her the time that Mrs King found out that Carrie, Rose, Oscar and I was spies.

“No way!” Jenny exclaims.

“Not so loud,” I say, nervously glancing around the café to see if anyone heard.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But are you serious? Aunt Hermione found out you guys were spies? How?”

“An old friend of mine from university broke out of prison and was after an invention of mine – the Dark Star. It turns light places into absolute darkness. Anyway, he and his cronies tracked me down to St Hope’s, hoping to steal the Dark Star. But I got wind of the situation from MI9 and decided to make a few traps for them. What I didn’t know was that Mrs King would be in the school – it was half term when this happened – and Colin, that was his name, caught Mrs King and Rose and held them hostage. But Oscar managed to save them with an invention that MI9 seized from SKUL. Anyway, but the time we arrested Colin, Mrs King knew everything.”

“So what happened?”

“Rose, who was away at a spy conference in France, used a memory wipe on Mrs King, and erased what happened that day from her mind. Unfortunately, the effects of the memory wipe lasted for a few months and soon, Mrs King was starting to remember. So, Oscar and I came up with a plan to recruit Mrs King as a spy to make her think that it was all a dream.”

“What a clever boy you are.”

“Well…” I blush.

“Now that I think about it, there was a time a couple of years ago when Aunt Hermione came to visit and my mum was asking why she was so tired. And Aunt Hermione told her that she kept having the same dream about finding out that three of her students and the school caretaker were spies. Who would have thought she was telling the truth?”

“Let’s just hope that she doesn’t find out that her niece is a spy as well.”

After we pay for our food, Jenny and I leave the café and head for the park, where we wander around aimlessly. After a few minutes, Jenny gives a yell and points to the play area.

“Look, the swings! Let’s go!”

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?” I ask.

“You’re never too old for the swings!” she cries. “Besides, I’m bored and I don’t want to wander around the park all day.”

Jenny drags me, protesting, over the tufty grass towards the play area and to the swings. I watch her as she swings, kicking right up high until her shoes point higher than the tops of the poplars edging the park.

“Woooo-hoooo!” she squeals, putting her head back and making it speedier. But soon she’s starting to get giddy and when she slows down and jumps off, she tips sideways.

“Whoops!” I say, and I reach out and steady her. “Are you OK, Jenny?”

Rather than saying yes, she replies, “That… was fun.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You are such a child.”

“Well of course I am! There’s no point in being a grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.”

I smile. “That’s true.”

I take Jenny’s hand and lead her to the benches near the swings. As we sit silently, I look around the park, which is pretty empty considering what a nice day it is. Of course, parents would be dragging their kids to shops to buy back to school stuff. But still, the park is pretty empty.

After a while of sitting in silence, Jenny asks, “Frank, could you tell me about yourself?”

“Hm?” I turn to her.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about yourself. Now that I know you’re a spy, I would like to know who you really are. I would like to know the real Frank London.”

She’s right. I haven’t really told her about the real me, have I? I’ve only told her who Frank ‘the Caretaker’ London was. It’s time she knew the truth.

“OK,” I say finally. “I’ll tell you everything this is to know about me – and I mean _everything_. First off, my name really is Frank London. My full name is Francis James London. I was born on the 26 th of August 1979 in Westminster to James and Martha London – both of whom were MI9 agents.”

Jenny’s eyes grow wide. “Your parents were spies?”

I nod. “My father was a Royal Navy Commander before being recruited by Sir Jeremy Voss, the former Director General of MI9, to the organization. My mother was the daughter of MI6 agent Matthew O’Neill. She attended the best schools and eventually followed in her father’s footsteps, becoming an MI9 translator and data analyst. They met on the job, fell in love, and married. My mother became a field agent like my father, giving them both an easy cover as a married couple. A year and a half later after they got married, my mother was pregnant with me. She got reassigned to a desk job while my father continued to perform convert missions. When I was around five, my father left on a mission to Iceland to infiltrate a secret underground bunker where SKUL were planning to launch a missile attack aimed at the UK and plant explosive charges. The mission was a success, however, while returning to the UK, the aircraft that my father flew… disappeared in bad weather over the North Atlantic Ocean. No trace of the plane was ever found, and my father was subsequently declared missing in action/presumed dead.”

I can tell that Jenny wants to say something but she can’t think of anything appropriate. It is a sad story.

We sit silently staring out across the park, listening to the sound of the birds and the cars passing by. “So, erm, what happened afterwards?” Jenny asks finally.

“After my mother was told the news about my father’s disappearance, she immediately resigned from field work to become secretary for the head of MI9,” I tell her. “It wasn’t until I was fifteen that my mother told me about my father being a spy – she always told me that he was a computer salesman who did a lot of ‘corporate’ travel and died in a plane crash.”

Jenny takes hold of my hand. “I’m really sorry, Frank.”

“It’s OK, Jen.” I smile, but it’s strained. “Although I have only vague memories of my father, my mother shares photographs and happy memories with me.”

“At least you still have your mother.”

“Yeah. I do. Anyway, enough about my parents – I still haven’t told you about me,” I say, changing the subject swiftly. “I was an academically gifted child, and displayed an uncanny affinity for science that was nothing short of genius. I was an extremely bright student at school and left with nine A-levels – all A’s. Like you, I took a gap year before I attended university. I spent my gap year travelling – I went to South America, India, China and Africa. After my gap year, I attended Oxford University and studied for my Bachelor of Science degree. After I graduated with a First, I did a postgraduate degree in Masters of Science for which I got a First in that as well.

“I still remember the day that I was approached by MI9. It was a day after I graduated with first-class honours in MSc. I was packing up my stuff when there was a knock at the door. When I opened the door, there stood Lenny Bicknall – he was a former field agent of MI9 and was Rose’s old mentor for the MI High Project – and he revealed that MI9 have been observing me secretly since childhood and picked me as a prime recruit for the organization. However, I was quick to reject the invitation and refused to join, but I later changed my mind after going through my father’s things and seeing his medals. And after going through the screening process – a background check, a physical analysis, ratification by the Board of Governors and a written exam, I became an official MI9 spy.

“After my training, I performed missions nationwide rather than internationally like my father did. I infiltrated warehouses and underground bunkers, and collected intelligence. I even fought one or two SKUL agents. But after one mission in Glasgow where several of comrades of mine died, I decided to resign from field work. I returned to MI9 in London and worked as a researcher and developer. About some time later, Lenny, the man who came and recruited me to MI9, came by and offered me another job in the organization – this time, to be team leader to three spies who are part of a project called MI High. I accepted… and the rest is history.”

After telling her my story, Jenny sits in stunned silence.

“Wow,” she whispers. “That’s an amazing story. It’s even better than my one.”

“I should also mention that my favourite colour is blue, I play the trumpet, I like listening to jazz, blues and swing music, and my favourite singers are Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong and Michael Bublé. My favourite films are the _Harry Potter_ series, _The_ _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, _The Hobbit_ , _Star Trek_ and _Star Wars_ , my favourite TV programs are _Doctor Who_ , _Sherlock_ , _The Big Bang Theory_ , _QI_ , _University Challenge_ , _Countdown_ , _CSI_ – Vegas, Miami and New York and _You’ve Been Framed!_. My favourite food is Chinese and Indian takeaway and my celebrity crushes are Holly Willoughby and Rachel Riley from _Countdown_ ,” I add.

Jenny gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for telling me everything, Frank,” she says. “Especially the story about your dad. It must have been hard for you.”

“I’ve never told really told anyone about him,” I sigh. “I didn’t think I could trust anyone. But with you, I can tell you anything because I know you’ll be able to keep it to yourself.”

“The same goes to you. I completely trust you.”

I slip an arm around her waist and pull her against me, and then I kiss her on the lips.

“I trust you, too,” I smile. “Come on” – I stand up and pull Jenny to her feet – “There must be something else we can do than sit in the park all day.”

“I suppose we could go into central London and have a wander round the shops and maybe we’ll grab some food afterwards,” she suggests.

“That sounds good enough for me. Let’s get going.”

We go to Piccadilly Circus and wander arm in arm, amusing ourselves, pretending that we are sightseers from another country. We find a Ben and Jerry’s and share a large Hot Fudge Sundae. Afterwards, we wander up Regent Street and head into Hamleys and we spend ages hovering around, looking at the diverse array of stuffed animals, from regular teddy bears to more exotic plushes such as turtles and dolphins, and enormous life-sized giraffes and elephants. Jen ends up buying two teddy bears – one for her, the other for me.

Then we go to Oxford Street and spend hours and hours and hours circling up and down street, wandering round the shops, Jenny trying on very high heels in Office and staggering around like a drunk, and then she spends ages in Topshop, choosing some really sexy clothing to try on in the changing room – as well as choosing some clothes for me to try on too. Finally, after we bulge our bags with new clothes, we go to Starbucks for some refreshment.

“Thanks for not complaining while I spent ages in shops and trying on clothes,” says Jenny.

“Thank you for choosing the clothes that suit me,” I reply. After a take a sip from my espresso, I start to fidget and drum the side of the glass with my fingertips. I want to ask her something, but I’m afraid she might say no.

“Frank? You OK?” Jenny asks.

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I’m… good.”

“You sure? You look a little nervous.”

“I’m good – really. It’s just…” I hesitate. “I was wondering if… No, I can’t.”

“Oh, go on. What is it?”

“Really, I can’t.”

“Frank, I’m not gonna let this go if you don’t tell me. Now what is it?”

“I was wondering if you would like to… spend the night at… my place.”

Jenny’s face turns red. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

I’ve only ever invited Jenny round to my place for dinner, a movie or both. I’ve never invited her to sleep over at my place – Mrs King will hit the roof, thinking that we’ll get up to some sort of shenanigans, even though what we’ll be probably doing is sleeping rather than… the other thing – though I wouldn’t mind if we did that.

“I-I mean you can say no if you want to. It was just a suggestion…” I stammer.

“Yes,” says Jenny.

“It was only a…” I stop and stare at her. “What did you say?”

“I would like to spend the night at your place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun – like an adult sleepover. Besides, I haven’t told Aunt Hermione – or my parents for that matter – that I’ve come back. Also, I would like a place where I can drop my shopping, so yes, Frank, I would like to spend the night at your place.”

Her words echo in my ears like heavenly bells. “That’s fantastic! I mean” – I clear my throat – “I mean that’s, erm, that’s great. It really is.”

“Cool. We better get going then if we wanna beat the traffic. Plus, I’m all shopped out.”

It’s nearly dusk when we leave Starbucks and catch a cab. But while Jenny’s stuffing her bags in the car, I tell the driver the address of my place – but it’s the place that Jenny always visits for dinner. I still have one more surprise up my sleeve for her.

We reach our destination about ten minutes later. The taxi pulls up outside a row of elegant red brick Victorian houses. One of those places you hear estate agents describe as having character and original features.

“We’re here,” I say, paying the driver.

“Here?” says Jenny, staring out, dazed. “Where are we?”

“Chelsea – or Chelsea Embankment should I say.” I climb out of the taxi, dragging out the shopping out as I do.

“But… but you don’t live here,” Jenny points out as she climbs out of the taxi. “You live in a council flat in Shepherd’s Bush.”

“That’s what I wanted you to think.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The flat that I’ve got in Shepherd’s Bush was provided to me by MI9 as my undercover role as caretaker for St Hope’s.” I motion to the building in front of me. “This is where I actually live.”

Jenny gapes at me in shock. Her mouth drops open. “You mean you actually live _here_? In _Chelsea_?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“Holy crap!” Jenny exclaims, staring at the handsome building.

I burst out laughing. “Well if you think the outside is amazing, wait until you see inside.”

I go up the short steps and unlock the door. I take Jenny’s hand and we step inside.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, setting her bags on the polished wooden floorboards and admiring the lovely old cornicing in the hallway.

The corridor also has hung black and white photographs of bleak landscapes – mountains and sea against dramatic skies, each one beautifully framed.

“Wait until you see the rest of it,” I say proudly. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

I lead her into the spacious living room. There are huge cream sofas and armchairs, Bohemian glass that’s arranged on the shelves in precise formation, and glossy magazines on the glass coffee table that’s laid out with geometric precision, as well as the dark wooden table and chairs. Next, I lead Jenny into the kitchen/dining room next to the living room, where the cabinets fill just about every square inch of the big bright room. But suddenly, Jenny gives a squeal and heads for the large window that looks out onto the River Thames.

“Wow! What a sensational view,” she says. “It’s stunning. And the kitchen – it’s huge.”

“Wait till you see the bedrooms,” I say, and I lead her out of the kitchen and out of the living room, down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor. “First off, before I show you my room, I’d like to show you my study room.”

I open the door and Jenny looks inside. The room is decorated with cream blinds and dark brown carpet and posters of my favourite jazz singers. There’s a large table and a black swivel chair with a spotlight overhead, with neatly stacked books and papers on the table, as well as my laptop.

“This was a bedroom when I bought I house,” I explain, “but since I’m an accomplished scientist and inventor, I turned this into my study.”

“I love it,” says Jenny. “It’s ultra-hip and cool.”

“And now for the finale: my bedroom.” We head back down the stairs. “Get ready to be impressed!” I open the door and lead Jenny into the bedroom.

It’s a big square room with dark floorboards, plush cream rugs and matching wallpaper, with a king-size bed and a large wardrobe opposite the bed, filling an entire wall. Then I show Jenny the en-suite bathroom next to the bedroom. The bathroom is huge, with a wide, glass shower stall and two basins. A large cherry wood cabinet sits next to the shower stall, that’s filled with navy-coloured towels and bath oils, soaps, and bubbles of all scents.

“And that’s just about it basically,” I conclude as we come out of the bathroom.

“This really is amazing, Frank,” says Jenny. She looks really impressed. “You’re so lucky to live somewhere like this.”

“Thanks. Listen, er… I was thinking about how we can finish what we were doing today.” I flash Jenny a devilish grin, remembering the amazing blow job I had earlier today.

“And what would that be?”

My hands go round her waist and I pull her tightly against me. “This…” I say softly, and then I lean in and start kissing her. My hands are in her hair, my finger stroking her ear, and then I very gently nibble the lobe and start kissing her neck down at the very sensitive part where it meets her shoulders. Then I carefully guide my hand directly under her vest…

“No. Frank. Stop it.”

I let her go immediately and step back.

“Hey, sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No. Don’t. It-it’s fine,” Jenny says, wrapping her arms round herself.

“Is everything all right, Jen?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really. Frank, I have to tell you something.” She goes over to the bed and sits on the white duvet. I do the same.

“Jen, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“OK, um, how can I put this?” she thinks. “Oh God, this is gonna be so embarrassing. You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t. I promise.”

“OK. Frank, you should know that while I may be your gazillionth girlfriend… you are actually my… first boyfriend – as in my very first.”

“I’m your very first boyfriend?”

She nods. “And everything we’ve done together has been my first: the kiss we had after the charity fashion show was my first, that first date we had where we watched _Oz: The Great and Powerful_ was my very first date. The first time we said I love you to each other was my very first time and what happened a few hours ago… well…”

“That was your first time?” It doesn’t take a genius to work this one out. “So that means…”

“Yeah, I’m a virgin,” Jenny quietly confesses.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. I stare at Jenny as she is blushing in various shades of red. I pull her into a hug.

“Frank?”

“You dummy,” I say, comforting her. “Do you really think that I’m some insensitive jerk who would laugh at something like that?”

“Y-you mean… you’re not ashamed that I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin?”

“Of course not, silly! I’m proud of you. I’m proud that you decided to wait until the right person came along – and I’m gonna keep waiting until you are ready to take things further.”

Jenny pulls away. “You really mean that? You’ll wait?”

“For as long as it takes.”

“Oh, Frank.” She kisses me lovingly on the lips. “You are the best boyfriend in the world. I’m so lucky to have you.”

I smile in response. “Listen, how about we order a takeaway and watch a film?”

Jenny smiles back. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Half an hour later, Jen and I are sitting on the sofa eating a Chinese takeaway while watching _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey_ on DVD. When we do finish watching the film, it’s nearly half past eleven.

Jenny lets out a big yawn. “Wow, I didn’t realise it was so late,” she says.

“Hey, you’re right,” I say, glancing at the clock. “I guess it’s time for bed. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I was kind of hoping we would…” Jenny blushes.

I furrow my brow, but then it suddenly clicks to me and I go red, too. “Oh oh!” I say sheepishly. “You mean…”

“I-I mean we don’t have to do anything – all we’re going to do is sleep, right?”

“Yeah, that’s all we’re doing. We’re just gonna sleep and nothing else.”

“And nothing else.”

“So, er, let’s get ready, then.”

We leave the living room and head for my bedroom. Jenny takes a bag with her into the bathroom, obviously to get changed. I change out of my clothes into a navy pyjama set and slip into bed.  When I get comfortable, the door opens and standing at doorway is Jenny, wearing a cherry red Asian-print shortie pyjama set featuring a spaghetti strap top and matching shorts.

I make a long wolf whistle.

“Do you like it?” she shyly asks.

“Yeah!” I say. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

She smiles. Then she puts the clothes she wore earlier in one of the shopping bags and comes to bed, slipping herself under the duvet. We lie on our sides, facing each other.

“So…” she says.

“So…” I echo.

“This is… nice.”

“Yes, it is.”

Jenny frowns. Then she lays on her other side so I’m facing her back and she tucks herself into me so her back is to my stomach. Then she takes my left arm and wraps it around her waist.

“Ah! Much better,” Jenny says with content. And she’s right, this is better. “Anyway, goodnight, Frank.”

“Goodnight, Jen,” I say.

“And Frank?”

“Yes?”

Jenny turns to me and whispers softly, “I love you.”

I reply by giving her a peck on the cheek. “I love you, too.”

We get back to our comfortable positions with Jenny snuggling up against me, and we settle in for the night. 


	31. Meet Claudia Brownstone

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Frank, do we have to go back to school?” I moan. “Can’t we just go back to your place and stay in bed?”

“Yes, Jen, we do have to go to school, as it’s the first day of term,” he says, glancing over at me as he eases the car into a curve. “We both have duties to perform – to both St Hope’s and MI9. Besides, I know you want to avoid Mrs King so you don’t have to explain to her why you haven’t called her all summer.”

“This is why we need to turn the car around and go back. Come on, Frank – please? We can do what we did yesterday? You remember? You made me breakfast in bed – pancakes with strawberries, drizzled with maple syrup and freshly squeezed orange juice. You fed me the strawberries and I fed you the pancakes which then led to us having a very passionate make-out session – I’ve still got the bruises.” I lift up my scarf to show Frank the love-bites he peppered on my neck and above the collarbone. “Then afterwards we lay in bed and slept late into the afternoon. Then we spent the rest of the day watching DVDs… and making out while the film was playing. Remember?”

“Yeah, what a day that was…” Frank sighs. And after a moment’s thought, he says, “But we’re still gonna head for St Hope’s. Nice try, though.”

“Hmm!” I groan. “You big meanie.” Frank laughs it off. “But thanks for letting stay a second night.”

“No problem,” he says and continues driving, while I stare out of the window for the rest of the journey.

I wonder how Aunt Hermione will react when she sees me. Will she get her arms around me and ask me how my summer was or will she get pissy at me as I didn’t call or text her saying I was coming back – or I was already back. Not to mention that she’ll want to know why I was crying over Frank. Oh God. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come into school. But like Frank said, I can’t avoid her forever. I’ll think of some excuse I can tell Aunt Hermione – I hope. As we finally make the turn onto the road leading to St Hope’s, I hear Frank say, “Hey, I’ve just thought of something.”

“It’s quite normal,” I say, glancing over to him. Frank smiles knowing that I’m only teasing him. “What is it?”

“Did you know that this week will be twelve months to the day that we met?”

“Really? Wow.” I knew, but I’m surprised that he had remembered. Most men don’t even remember twelve-week anniversaries, let alone twelve-month ones.

“Remember when we first met? We were both taken aback by each other’s appearances and personalities. I thought you would be someone who would curse at the students, drink heavily, smoke marijuana, and only shows movies while you slept through class, and you thought that I was someone who was…”

“A sad, old, fat guy with balding hair and had the personality of Sid James from the _Carry On_ films,” I finish. “And I said that we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Who would’ve thought that inside the contents of the book we both found out something interesting and valuable about each other? Me, the crime-fighter and you, the secret agent. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Hmm. I was thinking maybe to commemorate this momentous occasion, we can go out for dinner. There’s a new restaurant in Soho that’s just opened called Haru’s. If you don’t fancy Japanese, we can go somewhere else.”

“No, Japanese sounds great, though I will have to convince the governess that is Aunt Hermione to let me out. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

“Well, if Mrs King does let you out, I’d like to be chivalrous tonight and pick you up at your door at eight o’clock.”

“I don’t mind at all. Eight o’clock would be fine.” As soon as Frank parks the car in the lot, I give him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.” Then I hop out of the car and head into school.

It looks as if everyone has shown up early since it’s the first day of classes. A group of kids I don’t know are perched on the chairs in the foyer, their hair gleaming in the morning sun that’s coming through the windows. Some of the girls are touching each other, giggling and sneaking glimpses at other people out of the corner of their eyes. While two boys stand with their thumbs hooked in their belt hoops. I’ve got a feeling they have been practicing how to stand all summer.

“Yo, Miss B!” Scoop calls.

I grin and wave. It’s amazing how Scoop has changed over the past twelve months. Before, he used to mock around, not pay attention to any of his lessons, not do his homework and tease the brainy kids – Rose included – now, he’s kinder to his fellow students and his schoolwork has improved. He’s a whole new person and that’s all down to yours truly.

I take a deep breath when I finally reach Aunt Hermione’s office. Part of me is hoping that it’s only Mr. Flatley that’s in there so I can get my timetable and move swiftly to whatever classroom I should be heading for. I knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Ah, crumbs.

It’s Aunt Hermione.

God. Right, let’s just get this over and done with. I open the door and poke my head in to see Aunt Hermione sitting at her desk, looking at some letters that’s addressed to her. I push the door open and head inside.

“Hi, Aunt ‘Mione,” I say, a nervous grin spreading across my face.

She looks up at me. “Oh, so I see it lives,” she says, without enthusiasm.

“Oh. Ha-ha, very funny, Aunt H. Good one.” I can see that she’s not laughing. “Oh, Aunt Hermione, I really am sorry for not calling, texting or e-mailing you during my stay in Ireland or not telling you that I was coming back. It’s just… I needed to sort some things out.”

“With Mr. London, I presume?”

I nod. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. What happened between me and Frank… this was all down to me. This is not Frank’s fault, this was all me. I thought… well…” Come on, Jen, think of something – _anything_!

“Jenny?” says Aunt Hermione. “What happened?”

“I thought Frank might have… cheated on me.” I say the last bit so quietly; it’s like I didn’t say anything at all.

Aunt Hermione blinks, not quite getting it at first. Then – “You thought Mr. London _cheated_ on you?”

“It was prom night. Frank and I were outside, cuddling under the stars and I told him I was thirsty, so he offered to bring me my drink. When he went inside, he left his phone behind – and then it started ringing. I should have left it ringing, but I couldn’t stand it, so I answered it. It was some girl saying how she couldn’t wait to get into his pants. I listen to the girl, hardly able to believe it. Then I told the girl that she wasn’t going to do any of the things she just said to my boyfriend and I hung up. When Frank got back, I confronted him about it. When he denied it all, I went home and… well, you know the rest.”

Aunt Hermione waits a few seconds, and then when I don’t reply, she asks, “So, what happened next?”

“Well, when I came back yesterday,” Even though I came back on Friday, “Frank was waiting for me at the airport. He somehow managed to get the name of the airport from Livi. Anyway, I tried to avoid him, but he kept following me and telling me that he wasn’t gonna leave me alone until he explained himself. There was no point in arguing back, so we went to a quiet spot and talked. Turns out that the girl who called his phone was drunk and dialled the wrong number – Frank called the girl to tell her that he hopes she’s happy for ruining a relationship, and it was then the girl explained herself. Then Frank told me how he would never in a million years ever cheat on me because he loves me.”

Aunt Hermione’s expression softens a little.

Then I quickly add, “Also, he said that you would murder him if he did cheat on me – which I know he won’t.”

“You’re damn right he won’t,” says Aunt Hermione. “But I’m glad the two of you have sorted everything out. But next time, instead of running away, talk things through. Hear the other person’s side of things.”

“Yes, Aunt Hermione.”

“Also, at least give me a heads-up in your comings and goings. Don’t let me wait until I can actually see you in the flesh. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I nod.

“Good.” She holds out a sheet of card. “Your timetable for the new term.”

I take the timetable and take a brief look at it. My English lessons are on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, PE will be Mondays and Tuesdays, PSHE and Art are on Wednesdays, Music will be Thursdays and IT are on Fridays.

“Is there anything else?” Aunt Hermione asks me.

“Hm?” I look up at her. I’m about to say no when I suddenly remember. “Actually, Aunt Hermione… I was wondering if you would let me out tonight.”

“You wanna go out tonight. But I haven’t seen you all summer!”

“I know, but it’s me and Frank’s anniversary this week and we wanted to celebrate. Please let me out, Aunt Hermione? _Please?_ ”

“Well…”

“I’ll tell you what, if you let me out tonight, I will do all the chores around the house for the month – I’ll cook, clean and do the shopping. And I’ll guarantee you that there’ll be no BWC’s – no bitching, no whinging, no complaining. What do you say to that?”

Aunt Hermione is giving this a lot of thought. “Hmmmm… deal.” We shake hands to cement the deal. “You’ll start your chores from tomorrow. Any complaining and I’ll add an extra month, understand?”

“You got it.” Then the bell rings. “I better go. I’ll see you later, Aunt Hermione. And thanks again.”

I hurry out of the office and down the corridor to the classroom I’m supposed to be in. When I do reach the door of the classroom, I can’t believe my eyes when the class I have this year is the same old gang that I had last year.

“Surprise!” I exclaim when I barge in. “I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”

“Jenny!” the class cries.

“Hi guys! I hope you all had a great summer.”

“Yeah!”

“By the way, I would like to say congratulations on your exam results. I read the e-mail and I was mightily impressed – especially you, Scoop.”

“Well, that was all down to you, Miss B and your method of teaching,” he says.

“Maybe that’s why I was chosen to teach you guys this year. As you already know, this year is your final year of secondary school. Meaning as well as taking your GCSE exams, it’s also going to be the time to choose which college you want to go, depending on your grades. Now, I know it’s a lot to think about and I don’t want any of you to panic or feel pressurised. We’ve got plenty of time, that’s why I want you to give it some attention now so it doesn’t come as a big rush later on. I want you to think about your future. Your goals. Ambitions. What you want to be when you’re older. Right, anybody got any ideas?” I ask, looking around.

By now, half the class has their hands up.

“Olympic gymnast,” says Carrie.

“Footballer,” says Donovan.

“A member of the Green Party,” says Avril.

“Nobel Prize-winning scientist,” says Rose.

“DJ and rapper,” says Scoop.

“Rich and famous,” says Davina, and everyone cracks up laughing.

“Excellent,” I say. “Those who know what they want to do are lucky. And those who don’t don’t worry. You don’t have to decide today. But it does help to have some inkling of what direction you might like to go in. For those of you who don’t know, we’ll have a look at it all over the next few weeks. In fact, a good starting point is to take a look at who you are now. Identify your strengths and weaknesses. The seeds of today are the fruits of tomorrow. So, to start with, I’m going to give you an essay to be handed in at the end of term. Doesn’t have to be too long. A page or so.”

I pick up my black marker and turn to the whiteboard.

_What makes me ‘me’?_ I write

“That’s your title. I’ll give you fifteen minutes now to make a few notes.”

I write a few more questions up on the board.

_Who am I?_

_What are my interests?_

_What do I want? What are my goals in life?_

_What are my strengths and weaknesses?_

_What would I like to do as a career?_

While everyone scribbles madly, I take out my phone and text Frank to say that I can see him tonight. Afterwards, I get a magazine out of my bag and start flipping through the pages.

By the time the fifteen minutes are up, everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. And as the day wears on, that’s exactly what I do. I spend the day in the library doing little doodles and drawings. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything artistic. I draw several drawings of myself – the first one is of me as a rockstar. I’m wearing a chainlink cami top over a ripped tee and frayed denims with white lace edging. And I’m playing my electric guitar in front of a packed audience. Next, I draw myself as a can-can dancer working for the Moulin Rouge. My fabulous frou-frou dress features rows of ruffles, paired with white ruffled panties, nude tights, a red garter and pumps. My hair is pulled back and piled high, accented with a red feather for a final touch that’s _très fantastique_! But my favourite has to be the drawing I do of me as a Playboy Bunny, which consists of the corset, bunny ears, cotton tail, and collar with bow tie, cuffs with cuff links, black tights and matching high-heeled shoes and I’m serving drinks to Frank, who I dressed up as Hugh Hefner.

I’m so soothed by my drawings that I almost forget that I have a class to teach. I rush off to the Art room just as the last person has entered the room and after I get my breath back, I start telling everyone about the history of art and women painters and the changing ways women have been portrayed. Then I show them some William Blake watercolours and Picasso paintings of mythical creatures, and then I flash lots more Greek gods at everyone and amuse them with muses.

“Now, I want you all to draw yourselves as a mythical or legendary creature. Be inventive as possible,” I say, handing out paper. “You can use black ink and watercolour, like little Blakelets, or paint like Picasso.”

Whilst everyone gets down to work, I decide to have a go myself and settle down to my self-portrait. I draw myself as a glamorous witch, dressed in an outfit of orange, appropriately adorned with black cats and stars. I add a wide waist-cinching belt with gold buckle, a black and gold choker, and black peep-toe mules accented with orange pompoms. My black witch hat sits atop my wavy hair, and my face features delightfully dark plum lips, with nails like jewelled claws and in one elaborately manicured hand I’m holding a little doll, the image of Stark, stuck all over with pins.

I get so caught up in it that I failed to notice that the bell has gone, and by the time I’m finished with my drawing, I look up to find the class empty. What is wrong with me today? I’m never this spaced out before. I hope I’m not this tonight with Frank. I spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the hazy sun in the playground, listening to my MP3 player and moving my left foot to the beat of the music.

When school’s finished I wait for Aunt Hermione by her car. When she arrives, we drive off home and I’m greeted by Uncle Richie. About I tell him my situation that I had over the summer; he gives me a quick hug and tells me that he’s happy that everything is back to normal. And so am I. And after snacking on some food and watching a bit of TV, I go upstairs and have a quick shower. Then I pull on an abstract print skirt and a black one shoulder drape top with strappy black sandals, silver hoop earrings and the charm bracelet that Frank got me for Christmas. Finally, I do my makeup, doing a serious cover up job of every bruise and bite mark that’s on my neck and collarbone. I outline my eyes to make them look big and beguiling and put mascara on my lashes so I can flutter them provocatively. Then I apply pale pink lipstick for a really kissable pout, and after giving my hair a good brushing, I’m finally ready.

_Honk! Honk!_

I lean out of my bedroom window and yell, “I’m coming!”

I grab my clutch bag, skip down the stairs, and dash down the front walkway to the black cab in front of the house, my heels clip-clopping along the pavement. Frank is inside the cab and he looks very dashing. He’s dressed in black pinstriped trousers, a red collared shirt and tie with black and red floral pattern, and a black suit jacket. After he tells the taxi driver where to go, he leans in towards me, puts his arm around my waist and whispers in my ear, “Absolutely stunning.” I giggle and cosy up against his shoulder as we head to Haru’s.

xxoOoxx

When we get to Haru’s, the restaurant is packed solid and hot, filled, for the most part, with loud people and even louder music, tiled walls and cut-out windows displaying thousands of origami flowers, amid leather seating and dark wooden tables. Luckily, Frank made reservations earlier today as the waiter leads us to an empty table about halfway to the back.

“Sorry about all of this,” says Frank. “I didn’t think it’ll be this packed. Or noisy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Just think of it as being in St Hope’s.”

He laughs and calls over the waiter. He orders red wine for us, then we order our meals – I have salmon teriyaki and Frank has the sushi and sashimi. The evening goes by quickly and pleasantly. We talked, we laughed and now we’re exchanging presents. I go first. It was supposed to be his birthday present, but because I didn’t speak to him throughout summer, I never had the chance to give it him – until now that is.

“Happy anniversary,” I say as I hand Frank the black crepe parcel tied with silver ribbon. When he opens it up, he’ll find a box containing an Emporio Armani silver bracelet watch and sterling silver cufflinks.

“It’s wonderful,” says Frank, and he gives me a peck on the lips. “Thank you.”

“Look at the back of the watch.”

Frank the watch out of the box and reads the back. “‘In my heart, it is true I am blessed to have you’.” He gives me another peck on the lips. “And I am blessed to have you too. Here, have my present.”

He gives me this small, red parcel tied with purple ribbon. I open it up – and I find a key. I stare at Frank, confused.

“It’s the key to my place,” he says. “I know you’re thinking it’s too soon because we just got back together, but I just had a feeling that it was right. Also, I’ve wanted to give you this for some time. So anytime you want to get away from Mrs King’s for the night or the weekend, you can use the key to stay at my place.”

I stare down at the silver house key, my heart hammering, and then I stare at Frank, who’s staring at me with a bewildered look on his face.

“I-if you don’t like it, I can get you something el–” I move in close for a kiss before he can finish his sentence.

“You are doing no such thing,” I say. “I love it. It’s the best present I’ve had in years. Thank you so much.”

Frank’s cheeks go pink. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. We order a chocolate dorayaki to share and we take turns at the slice of the Japanese pancake with chocolate filling.

Soon afterwards, dinner is over, the plates cleared and the bill paid. Although it’s nearly autumn, it’s a beautiful night. The street is still filled with people. On the corner an old man wearing a baseball cap is seated on an overturned dustbin lid, playing a funky blues tune on a harmonica. Several couples are clustered outside an after-hours club across the street. Car horns honked. The street is still filled with traffic.

We catch a cab and we snuggle up together as the driver drops me off to my house. And when I do arrive outside Aunt Hermione’s it’s nearly eleven.

“Thanks for tonight, Frank. I had a wonderful evening,” I say. “And thanks again for the _wonderful_ present.”

“No problem,” he says. He bends forward and kisses me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I climb out of the taxi and wave as it disappears down the road and round the corner. I’m twinkling that Frank’s given me the key to his place. It’s surprising the entire street isn’t illuminated by my stardust. I’m still sparkling when I waltz over to the door and root around in my bag to find the key to Aunt Hermione’s house.

“Aha!” I pull up the key from the inside pocket of the clutch. “Gotcha!”

I put my key in the door – and before I can even get it out, a hand goes over my mouth causing me drop my bag and its contents, and I’m being dragged down the path. I can only guess that it’s a man who’s grabbed me because of his iron-like grip. I try to wriggle free but there’s no chance at all of getting away.

“Stay still,” he commands. “And don’t even think about screaming, otherwise it’ll be the last thing you do. Got it?”

Slowly, I nod. Then, a black van pulls up in front of me and the man. The door slides open and I’m violently shoved in the van. The back of the van is dark when the door slides shut – there are no windows for me to see any light from outside.

“Hey – what’s going on? Let me out of here!” I yell, banging on the walls of the van. “Do you hear me? I said let me out – whoa!” I’m thrown to the floor as the van takes off and speeds down the road. Even though the back of the van is dark, I close my eyes and hold tight as the van speeds up and powers along the road, and rounding corners. What the hell is happening? What do these people want from me? More importantly, where am I being taken? For all I know, it could be miles and miles away from London. It could be the middle of nowhere!

Eventually, after a short while, the van slows down and stops. I gingerly climb to my feet, my body aching all over and I hear the front doors of the van open and shut. I almost jump out of my skin when the back door slides open – but not all the way, just a little bit so only the man can climb in. He is top-heavy and muscular, and dressed in black. I can see his face as he’s wearing a balaclava.

“Turn around,” he commands.

I stare at the black-clad man.

“Are you deaf or something? I said turn around.” He brings out an army knife. “Unless you want that pretty face of yours sliced open.”

I glare at him and obliging his request, I turn around. The man walks towards me and suddenly, my vision is blotted out by a blindfold. Then he grabs my wrists and I feel my hands fastened together behind my back. Then, I’m taken out of the van and I can feel the merciless hold of the man’s hand on my arm as I’m being guided to… whatever place I’m going to.

After what feels like forever – but I know it must’ve been five minutes – we stop. I hear a knock at the door, three long raps and then two quick ones, like a little fanfare announcing our arrival. Once the door opens, the hands are on me again and I get pushed inside. And after another five minutes of walking, we stop.  My blindfold is removed and I’m blinking into the dim light. I look around the room – the walls are red and the floor is black and shiny, with a large world map on the wall. There’s also a large black leather chair and a round glass table. Where the hell am I?

My question is soon answered when a door opens and there, standing in the doorway, the dim light is… the Grandmaster?!

Oh, my God – I’m at SKUL!

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. I can’t believe it. I just can’t bloody believe it. OK, just stay calm. Just stay calm. Just stay fucking calm! For fuck’s sake, just fucking calm down!

I try not to be too scared when the Grandmaster walks towards me, even though my legs are trembling and the palms of my hands are sweaty. When the Grandmaster does stop in front of me, he studies my face, which makes me very uncomfortable.

“Untie her,” he tells the muscular man.

He does. There’s a slight discomfort to my shoulders. I rub them to stop the pain.

“So, we finally meet at last… Miss Brownstone,” says the Grandmaster.

I stare at him as he takes his seat on his leather chair. How the hell does he know my name?

“Miss Brownstone?” I whisper in a mouse’s squeak out of my head.

“Oh yes. I know everything there is to know about you, Miss Brownstone. Or should I call you… the Cat?”

My heart leaps to my mouth. Every muscle in my body ties itself into a knot. The Grandmaster knows that I’m the Cat. But… how?

“What’s the matter?” the Grandmaster asks in an innocent tone. “You as the Cat haven’t got your own tongue, have you?”

“U-umm… I-I have no idea what you’re talking,” is all I can stammer.

“There’s no point trying to deny it,” says a voice. “After all, it was you who told me who you were.”

There’s a figure standing in the shadows in the corner of the room. The person steps out of the shadow and stands next to the Grandmaster.

Oh God.

I can’t believe it.

It’s the receptionist from MI9.

But rather than wearing her navy work suit, the girl is wearing a red skintight jumpsuit with a padded black vest on top, adorned with the SKUL logo on the left side of her vest and long black boots. Accessories include black gloves with a thin cuff, a utility belt with holsters on either side, and two pistols and a black military cap. And rather than having her hair in a bun and wearing glasses, her flame-red curls falls over her shoulders and she’s wearing contact lenses.

“Yes, Miss Brownstone, it is I – the receptionist,” says the woman. “But I’m more commonly known as SKUL Agent Amy Alberts.”

“For nearly a year, Agent Alberts has been working undercover at MI9 to find the identity of the meddling feline nuisance that is the Cat if MI9 were to arrest her,” says the Grandmaster.

“But you made this oh-so easy for me when you decided to hand yourself in on Friday. The moment you told me your name and you were taken away, I immediately informed the Grandmaster. I also gained information on where you lived, hence why you were snatched at your door.”

I don’t say anything. I’m too freaked out that the Grandmaster knows who I am. My chest is aching so hard, I can hardly breathe. Oh God, how am I gonna get out of this one?

“And now, after all these years, the moment has come for me to destroy you where you stand,” says the Grandmaster. “Any last words before my agent puts a bullet in your head?”

Agent Alberts pulls out her pistol and points it at me. Come on, Jen, think. _Think_! Surely you must have one more trick up your sleeve – despite the fact you’re wearing a one shoulder top.

“Well?” says Agent Alberts, cocking her pistol.

“Er… well… I… I…” I take a deep breathe. I’ve got it. “I can’t believe you have got me mixed up with my sister.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? You are Jenny Brownstone – you are the Cat.”

“No, Jenny Brownstone is my sister. I’m her slightly younger – by five minutes – twin sister, Claudia Brownstone.”

“What?” Agent Alberts is staring at me.

“What?” The Grandmaster is staring at me too.

“Oh yes – we’re identical twins,” I say. Please, God, let this work.

“Grandmaster, don’t listen to her,” Agent Alberts tells him. “She’s just saying that to save her own skin.”

“Now why would I do that? I just told you – I’m her twin sister, Claudia. So are you seriously telling me that my sister is the Cat? That is so wicked-cool.”

“That’s enough! You are not Claudia,” Agent Alberts’ face grows hard, her blue eyes clear and cold as water. “You are no-one’s twin sister. You are Jenny Brownstone. I saw you with my own eyes on Friday at MI9 headquarters telling me so.”

“Uh, no. On Friday, I got back from my holiday in Ibiza. I stayed with a friend before returning to my aunt’s house.”

“We’ve had agents outside the house since Monday,” says the Grandmaster. “They never saw you enter or leave the house.”

“That’s because that I returned to my aunt’s house today,” I respond.

“All right, fine. Let’s say that you went to your aunt’s house today – where is your ‘sister’?” Agent Albert asks.

“How the bloody hell am I supposed to know? It’s not like we can read each other’s mind or something, otherwise I would have known much much sooner that she was the Cat.”

“Grrrr…” she growls. “OK. What about the man you left with on Monday?”

“What man?”

Agent Alberts brings out a palmtop computer and turns it on. Its CCTV footage of me with my arm linked with Frank’s as we left MI9.

“It’s also the same man that Agents Mac and McCampbell saw in the taxi this evening picking you up outside your aunt’s house,” she says, nodding to the two men either side of me. “Care to explain that?”

“My sister’s a serial flirter,” I reply. “She’ll flirt with any guy, great or small, old or young, gross or gorgeous. At the batting of her eyelashes, adorning weedy guys will mill around her ankles. That just happens to be my boyfriend she’s linking arms with – the one I told her a million times not to flirt with.”

“A boyfriend who you didn’t was an MI9 agent?”

“Are you serious? My boyfriend works for MI9? Wow. Who’d thunk it, eh? My sister the crime-fighter and my boyfriend the spy. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this!” Agent Alberts snaps, pointing her gun at me again. “I don’t care who you are, I’m still gonna shoot you. And then I’m gonna shoot your sister, too.”

“That’s enough, Agent Alberts,” says the Grandmaster. “Lower your gun.”

“Wha…?” She turns to him. “B-but, Grandmaster…”

“I said lower your gun.”

Agent Alberts hesitates. Then, she uncocks her gun and tucks it back in her holster.

“Miss Brownstone, I hope you can accept my most sincere apology for the misunderstanding that has occurred,” says the Grandmaster. “Sometimes, I’m surrounded by incompetent idiotic morons.”

Agent Alberts frowns but she says nothing.

“Apology accepted,” I say. “Now, I’m sure that if you return me back to my home, we can forget about this little incident.”

“Who said anything about letting you go?” says the Grandmaster.

“Eh?”

“I can’t exactly let you go, only for you to tell your sister about you being taken to SKUL now, can I? Oh no, no, no. Now, I have leverage. I can use you to bring the Cat out of her hiding place and capture her.”

“That’s if the Cat shows up at all,” says Agent Alberts, staring at me very intently.

I feel my heart pounding underneath my top.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear, she will,” says the Grandmaster. “If the Cat cares about her sister, she’ll rescue her. And if she doesn’t show up,” he looks pointedly at me, “we’ll know that this Miss Brownstone is lying and she will be shot.”

I gulp.

“Miss Brownstone, your sister has until twelve o’clock tomorrow afternoon to show up in an attempt to rescue you,” he continues. “If she’s a no-show…”

“I’ll take great pleasure in killing you myself,” Agent Alberts finishes.

“But how is the Cat supposed to find me?” I ask. Then it hits me. “Unless, of course –”

“I’m going to trap her,” says the Grandmaster. “I’ll activate a tracking device that’ll make it easier to find you. When the Cat arrives here, my agents will have her surrounded and she’ll be thrown in jail, where she’ll spend the rest of her days. But like I said before, if she doesn’t turn up and I find out that you’re lying…” He uses his right hand to mimic a gun and holds his it to his right temple. “Bang.” Then he laughs his sinister laugh.

I stand silently. I can’t speak. I can’t move.

I truly am in the doghouse.

“Take her down to the dungeons,” the Grandmaster tells the black-clad agents.

The muscular man roughly takes me by the arm and shoves me down the long, dimly-lit corridor. When we get to the end of the corridor, the tall and fat agent goes to unlock the door, while the muscular man’s grip tightens around my arm. He’s trying to hurt me. After he unlocks the door and opens it, the fat agent strides through, with me – being push roughly once again – and the muscular agent following behind. It’s just as well someone’s holding onto me because the steps are incredibly steep – not to mention slippery, and there isn’t any handrail, so you can easily stumble, fall down the stairs and break your neck.

When we reach the bottom, we walk down the long, dank corridor, with many doors along it. The fat agent goes to one of the doors, unlocks it and holds it open. The muscular man thrusts me in the cell and I fall on the stone floor, scraping the palms of my hands and both of my knees – and it hurts a lot. When I stand up again, the door slams shut. I hurtle to the door. I grab the handle and pull hard.

No success.

“Let me out of here!” I shriek as I bang on the door. “Let me out!”

No reply.

I bang my shoulder against the door. I grab the knob and twisting the knob, I push. Strained against the door with all my weight. But it’s no use. I let out a frustrated sigh and sit on the cold concrete, my back leaning against the door. The floor is very cold and the damp spreads through my skirt but I still sit here.

My knees have stopped bleeding, but they both look pretty dirty and so do the palms of my hands. I wrap my arms round myself because the air is so cold.

This has to be one of the worse jams I have ever been in. Not only am I acting as my own twin sister, but if the Cat – who happens to be me! – doesn’t show up tomorrow, I’m as dead as a Dodo. But in a way, there’s a bright side to this – I have a boyfriend who’s an MI9 agent. I’m sure Frank will think of something that will get me out of here.

I stand up again and go to the extremely lump mattress in the corner of the single plain room and lay on it, covering myself up with the very itchy blanket and I drift off to sleep.

Oh Frank, I hope you can save me…


	32. Sister, Sister

**(Frank’s POV)**

I look at my watch for about the hundredth time. Jenny is over an hour late. I wanted to surprise her with what I’ve got in store for her today. It’s officially our one year anniversary since we first met and this afternoon, I wanted to take her for a lunch cruise on the Thames, followed by a ride on the London Eye. Then in the evening, we’ll see _Wicked_ at the Apollo Victoria Theatre (she went to see it with a friend for their birthday and immediately fell in love with it). And finally, we’ll end the night with dinner at my place, with me cooking – lobster tails, linguine carbonara and steamed mixed vegetables.

Though, I’m hoping that’s how the day would go if I’m wondering if someone is going to show up or not, and worrying about where she could be, and what is taking her so long.

Come _on_ , Jen! Where are you?

Suddenly, my mobile rings. I take it out of my pocket to see who’s calling me. It’s Mrs King.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Frank, something’s happened to Jenny,” says Mrs King. She sounds upset. “She’s missing!”

I feel a chill run through my body and I nearly drop the phone. Jen’s missing? But how could that be? I dropped her outside her house last night.

“What?” I mumble.

“She didn’t come home last night,” says Mrs King. “I thought she’d be with you, but when I left the house this morning, her phone, purse and keys were on the doorstep. I’ve called all of her friends, but they haven’t heard from her and I daren’t call her parents. For all I know, she could be…”

“Let’s not assume the worse has happened, Mrs K,” I interject, not wanting to think about _that_. “Have the police been called?”

“Yes – Richard called them about fifteen minutes ago. They’re out looking for her – some are questioning the neighbours about last night. Oh Frank, I just don’t know what to do. Anything could’ve happened to her.”

“Mrs K, it’s best not to have doubts like that in your mind. Just take some deep breaths and let the police handle it, OK?”

After we say our goodbyes and hang up, I race for the broom cupboard to get down to HQ, bringing out my screwdriver and pressing the button to summon Rose, Oscar and Carrie down to HQ too.

When I arrive at the underground base, I head over to the computers to go through CCTV to see who could’ve taken Jen or if there were any unusual activities happening around the street before she was taken.

Seconds later, the team arrive.

“Frank, what’s going on?” Carrie asks.

“It’s Jenny,” I say. “She… she’s missing.”

“Missing?”

I nod. “I just got a call from Mrs King saying that Jenny didn’t return home last night – despite the fact that I dropped her off in front of her house. When Mrs King left the house, the contents in Jen’s bag was scattered on the doorstep.”

“So, someone’s kidnapped her?”

“It looks like it.”

“But who could’ve taken her?” Oscar asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I tell him. “I’m going through the CCTV footage of Jenny’s street to see who could’ve taken her.”

“Don’t bother,” says Rose. “Look at this.”

We gather around Rose at one of the computers. My eyes widen as I see that it’s a message from… the Grandmaster!

“‘To the Cat – I have something that belongs to you. You have until midday today to claim her. If you’re not here by that time, the girl will die! From the leader of SKUL: the Grandmaster’,” I read.

“How does the Grandmaster know that the Cat… or Jenny works for MI9?” says Carrie.

“Unless… oh no,” Rose groans. “We have a mole in MI9. Someone from SKUL now knows that Jenny is the Cat and has passed the information on to the Grandmaster.”

“Meaning, he can use Jen’s family to get to her,” I say.

“The Grandmaster said that he has someone that belongs to Jenny,” says Oscar. “The message said a girl – it must be her mum or her sister.”

“I’ll check.” Rose gets typing right away. “That’s weird. The location of Livi and her mother are situated at two different locations: the London Metropolitan University and a surgery in Harley Street.”

“Livi has lessons today and her mother is a receptionist at the plastic and cosmetic surgery in Harley Street,” I say. “So, that means…”

“The Grandmaster has Jenny,” Oscar finishes.

“But… that doesn’t make sense,” says Carrie. “If the Grandmaster knows that Jenny and the Cat is the same person, why is he keeping Jenny prisoner?”

“This may answer your question, Carrie,” says Rose. “I’ve just received an e-mail from the mole inside SKUL. Listen to this: ‘To MI9 – Due to a leak within your organization, the Grandmaster now knows the identity of the Cat. However, the girl has managed to deceive the Grandmaster into claiming that she is her own twin sister, Claudia. But I’m afraid your friend cannot keep up the charade for long, as the Grandmaster has demanded that the Cat is to show up and rescue her ‘sister’. If she’s not there by midday today, he’ll know that your friend has lied to him and will be killed. Please hurry – you do not have long. The Mole’.”

“So Jenny is posing as her own twin sister?”

“Just one more reason why I love her,” I say. “You clever girl.”

“But like the e-mail said, she can’t keep this up for much longer. If we don’t do anything before twelve, the Grandmaster will know that Jenny has lied to him and she’ll be killed,” says Oscar. “We’re going to need some help.”

“What about Zeke?” Carrie suggests. “He must have some awesome gadgets that he could lend us to help Jenny with.”

“Good idea, Carrie,” I say. “Question is how do we get in touch with him? None of us have his phone number.”

“Actually, that’s not strictly true,” says Rose, looking flushed. “After you and Jenny left on Monday, Zeke gave me his number and e-mail address in case I needed help on solving a complex Math problem or… something.”

“Oh yeah, I saw that,” says Carrie. “And I saw how pink you went when he winked at you.”

“Carrie!”

“Er, team, if we can please focus. We’ve got someone posing as their own sister that needs saving,” I say. “Rose, if you would…?”

She types in Zeke’s phone number into the computer. After a few rings, Zeke’s face appears on the screen.

“Oh, hi, Rose!” he smiles. When he sees the look on our faces, he adds, “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say. “Zeke, we need your help. Something has happened with Jenny.”

I explain to Zeke that Jenny was taken by SKUL last night after the Grandmaster knew of her identity being the Cat by a leak in MI9. Then I explain how Jenny has convinced the Grandmaster that she is posing her own twin sister called Claudia, and the e-mail we received this morning from the Grandmaster explaining that if the Cat doesn’t show up at midday to rescue Jenny, he’ll kill her.

“…So we need something that’ll convince the Grandmaster that Jenny is telling the truth,” I conclude. “On top of that, we need something that’ll wipe the memories of everyone in SKUL who knows her identity as the Cat so this doesn’t ever happen again.”

“It’s just as well your friends with a boy genius because I’ve got the necessary gadgets for this,” says Zeke. “How long do we have left?”

I look down at my watch. “We have about an hour and a half.”

“OK. Give me half an hour – I’ll have the stuff ready for you.”

“But we have no idea where SKUL could’ve taken Jenny,” says Oscar. “She could be anywhere.”

“I can check the CCTV footage for any activity that happened before they took Jenny…” I start.

“Don’t worry. I’m on it,” says Zeke. “In fact, I’m done.”

“Wow, he’s good,” Carrie murmurs.

“According to the video surveillance, a black van was seen speeding through Shepherd’s Bush, nearly colliding with a middle-aged man on a motorcycle. The van was last seen heading for Spa Road in Bermondsey, by the old railway station.”

“We better get there right away,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll see you lot there.”

Zeke hangs up, while the team and I exit HQ and head for Bermondsey.

xxoOoxx

“Where _is_ Zeke?” I say, staring impatiently at my watch. “He should be here by now.”

“Frank, it’s only been like ten minutes since we got here,” says Carrie.

“I know, but… time is running out for Jen. And it won’t be long before the Grandmaster realizes that she’s lying. If he even lays a finger on her…”

“We will rescue her, Frank,” says Rose. “We’ve still got about thirty minutes to do so. But for now, you’ve got to calm down. OK?”

I nod. Rose is right – we’ve got plenty of time. I just need to take a few deep breaths – which I do… while glancing down at my watch.

Where _is_ he?

Just then, I hear the gunning of an engine. I look around – there are no cars driving by or motorcycles. I look to the sky, shielding my eyes with my hand – not a plane or helicopter in sight. Strange. Then, a cold draught blows through the street – which is rather odd as the forecast said that it was gonna be a warm day today, the warmest September in years. What is going on?

“Hi, guys!”

The team and I turn to the bridge, and there is Zeke. He’s wearing a white polo with a red hoodie on top, denim shorts and simple black-laced plimsoll shoes. He’s standing by an orange Vespa scooter, but there are no wheels – it’s hovering above the ground!

“Zeke! How did you get here so quickly?” says Rose.

He nods to his scooter. “Hover Scooter,” he simply says. “It allows me to hover above ground and water surfaces while performing complex manoeuvres. Can go up sixty to sixty-five miles per hour – and I installed a cloaking device, so no-one can see me whizz through London on a vehicle without wheels.”

“That explains the gunning noise and the breeze,” I say. “Anyway, do you have the gadgets needed?”

“Yes – and it should be arriving in about” – Zeke looks at his watch and starts to count – “Five… four… three…”

A loud roar downs out Zeke’s words. I look around the street – no cars or motorbikes have come past us. So I look to the skies – and there I see a figure flying around in a circle. Then it swoops straight down, like an angel. After it lands, the team and I gaze out at the figure, open-mouthed. The figure looks exactly like Jenny when she’s the Cat!

“Guys, meet the Cat Android 1000,” says Zeke. “She is essentially the robotic version of Jenny. If Jenny were to be injured in an accident that required months of healing, the Cat Android 1000 would take her place. She has realistic ‘human skin’ coating which hides her joints, making her virtually identical to the real Jenny when naked. She is equipped with several devices, including laser emitters in her eyes, thrusters on her legs and back that allow her to fly and retractable rocket fists. For combat and defence, her arms can be reconfigured into weapons, such as a blade or gun – though this will tear the sleeves of her clothes apart. She is also an expert hand-to-hand combatant.”

For a moment the team and I are all too stunned to say anything. This has to be the most incredible invention I have ever come across.

“Wow,” says Rose after a long silence. “This is… amazing. No, not amazing – absolutely phenomenal! You truly are an absolute genius, Zeke.”

His cheeks go pink. “Thanks Rose.” Then he clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ve also equipped the CA1000 with a neuralyzer. I’m sure everyone is familiar with the _Men in Black_ films and how the neuralyzer actually works.”

“You mean you’ve invented a fictional device that can erase memories?” says Carrie, sounding shocked.

“I once saw a program on the Discovery Channel a few years ago called _Sci-Fi Saved My Life_ dedicated to the _Men in Black_ films. Experts in the episode said the neuralyzer has a chance of being built in real life, so I decided to put that to the test. It took about twenty months to perfect the device and after testing it on Darwin and Einstein – my lab rats – the neuralyzer is good to go. The neuralyzer is implanted in CA1000’s eyes and is powerful enough to wipe the memories of the last seven days from the human brain.”

“That’s incredible, Zeke, but shouldn’t we be finding their HQ?” says Oscar. He glances at his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”

“But where do we start?” says Rose. “There are some eight hundred arches in the viaduct at Spa Road that extends between London Bridge to Deptford – it could take forever!”

“And that’s where the CA1000 comes in,” says Zeke. He turns to the android. “CA, go and find a black Ford Tourneo transit van that was last seen around this area at around 11:40 last night.”

The Cat Android nods and takes off.

Zeke brings out a handheld electronic device. It is dark red and has a screen roughly the size of a Blackberry screen. It has a circular speaker on the left side, and on the right side it has four black circular buttons. “The D-Transceiver – short for the ‘Droid-Transceiver’. I can use it to talk and communicate with any of my androids. It also has compass, radar functions and instant messaging.” Suddenly, the device starts to beep. “Looks like we’ve got a live one – the CA1000 has found the van. It’s not too far from us.”

“Then let’s go!” I say.

We take off, with Zeke leading the way on his Hover Scooter to where the Cat Android is. After a couple of minutes or so, we find the android in a derelict viaduct widening, standing next to the black van that Zeke had described to her.

“Good job CA1000,” he says. “OK, Jenny can’t be too far, so let’s do a search around the area.”

Time is getting on as we start to search and we’re all starting to worry we might not find Jen in time – with me, I’ve gone from worrying to panicking. I look at my watch – we’ve got less than fifteen minutes. I want to ask Zeke if he can track Jenny down but then I remember that her phone and watch communicator are at home with Mrs King so we can’t make much progress.

But after about five minutes, we come across an entrance in one of the arches under the bridge, just past the lilac hoarding. The door is stood half open.

“Hey, look at this!” says Carrie. She bends down to pick up something from the ground and then she shows it to us. It’s a SKUL badge. “Looks like we’re in the right place.”

“And it also looks like a trap,” says Oscar. “SKUL wouldn’t exactly leave their merchandise lying around – unless they wanted us to find it.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you better go in disguise,” says Zeke. He goes to his pocket and brings out three watch-devices – one blue and two pink. “The Disguise Watch. It has the ability of allowing you to instantly change your outfits to any disguise possible by tapping the button on the side of its screen and then touching the screen. It also acts as a communicator and a GPS.”

“Cool!” the team exclaims when Zeke hands them the watches. As soon as the team strap the watches on the wrists, they scroll through the watch to choose their disguise. When they’ve found their disguise, the team touch the screen of the watch and in a flash; the team appear in their chosen disguise – the black uniform wore by the underlings of SKUL.

“Oh, my gosh, this is so awesome!” Carrie cries. “This is the best gadget ever invented.”

“Thanks very much,” says Zeke. “Also, due to her own A.I. and computer programming, the CA1000 has the ability to interact and connect with other computer networks with ease, allowing her to hack and control computer systems. So SKUL won’t know what hit them.”

“That’s great, Zeke!” says Rose. “Now let’s get this show on the road. Time is nearly running out.”

“I’ll call for a SWAT team,” I say. “Good luck, agents.” I nod to the Cat Android. “CA1000.”

The android nods, pushes the door open and steps inside, with the team following behind.

“Don’t worry, Frank, the team will rescue Jenny,” says Zeke. “You can count on it.”

“I hope so,” I say, and then I take out my phone and make a call to MI9.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Atchoo!” I sneeze. Then I mutter, “Oh, God.”

I am dying. I’m cold and I’m shivering. My nose is all bunged up, my throat is raw, my head aches and my chest hurts. That’s what happens when you spend the night in a freezing cold and damp prison cell. And this burlap sack of a blanket that I’m wearing around my shoulders isn’t helping. It’s itchy and rough and there are some holes in it so I can stay 100% warm. I wonder what time it is. I’ve got my silver charm bangle jangling on my wrist instead of my watch – but I know its morning. And I know that time is running out for me. If something doesn’t happen at midday, I’m toast. But I’ve got to believe that Frank and the others will come up with something. I know they will.

I hear footsteps. I sit still, listening. Maybe it’s Oscar, Carrie and Rose. Or maybe – and I know it sounds very cliché – maybe it’s Frank. He’ll rescue me from the clutches of the Grandmaster and I’ll reward him with a kiss, like Princess Peach would every time Mario saves her. I hear a set of keys jangling, then the door unlocking. I quickly stand up as the door swings open with a loud creak.

And there’s a man standing in the doorway – but it’s not Frank.

It’s the burly man from yesterday. Agent Mac or McCampbell – Agent Alberts never established which man had what name. He glares in at me, an angry scowl on his face.

“Let’s go,” he growls.

The blanket falls from my shoulders as I leave the cell. I follow the man down the unpleasantly damp and cold corridor, shivering as I do. As we climb up the hairy steps in the dim light, I put my foot on a step that isn’t there and trip, banging my shin.

“Ouch!” I scream, even though it isn’t that painful – but there will be a big bruise later.

“Keep moving!” the brawny man commands.

As soon as he turns, I roll my eyes and mutter, “Prick,” under my breath and I carry on up the stairs again.

When we get to the top, we walk down the long corridor to the room where the Grandmaster sits. The brawny agent shoves me and I stumble to the middle of the room. I look around and find that there’s a room full of agents, about fifteen or so – including Agent Alberts. She has a pleased smile on her face. A triumphant smile. And standing next to her is the Grandmaster – and in his arms, General Flopsy.

“Well, well, well. Looks like time has run out for you, hasn’t it… ‘Claudia’?” he says. “It seems that your ‘sister’ is not going to rescue you anytime soon, is she?”

“We’ve still got a bit of time left,” I say. “I mean, what time is it? Ten o’clock? Half eleven…?”

“It’s time for you… to bite the dust. I shall leave you in the capable hands of my agents…”

“Hmm, of course. You don’t wanna get blood splashed all over your rabbit and dressing gown, now, will you?”

“How many time do I have to say it – it is _not_ a dressing gown. It’s a ceremonial robe.”

“Whatever, mate.”

Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, I can tell that he’s glaring at me. Then he takes his leave from the side door. After he leaves, Agent Alberts gets out her gun – as do the other agents.

“I knew from the start that you were lying about having a ‘twin sister’. I told the Grandmaster that you said that to save your own skin. You made her up in your head – which ironically, is the first place I’m going to shoot you. Like I said before, you _are_ Jenny Brownstone – and you _are_ the Cat. And now, you’re gonna be Swiss cheese when we’re done with you.” She looks down at her watch. “Men, on my signal, fire. In five… four… three… two… one. Fir–” Suddenly, the lights go out. “Hey – what the hell? What’s going on?”

Either the electricity in this place has gone bust or MI9 have arrived. Either way, I’m happy I’m not riddled with bullets.

“Find out what’s going on!” Agent Alberts commands – but then I hear the sound of punches, kicks and grunts. Thank the Lord, its MI9. “Hey – what’s going on? What is the meaning of this?”

The lights come back on. I look around the room. I see that all the agents – except Alberts and three others – are all lying on the floor.

Agent Alberts gazes around the room with a stunned look on her face. “What – but – how –?”

“Looks to me that that was my sister’s way of saying hi,” I say.

“Well, your sister must be stupid then I thought because you’re still standing in front of me, rather than escaping with her.” Alberts points her gun at me. “Sweet dreams, Cat.”

“I don’t think so!” says one of the agents with dark skin. The agent performs a somersault and kicks the gun out of Agent Alberts’ hand. Then, they swing their other leg and kick Alberts on the chin twice, knocking her to the ground.

I stare at Alberts as she groans in pain, then I stare at the SKUL agent who knocked her down.

“What the… heck…?” I start.

The agent turns to me and takes off their helmet. “Surprise!”

I recognize them instantly. “Carrie!” I turn to the other two agents who take off their helmets too. “Rose! Oscar!”

“There’s no time to explain,” says Oscar. “Right now, we gotta get out of here.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice. Let’s vamoose!”

Rose and Oscar lead the way out of the door, with me and Carrie following closely behind them, running at full speed.

“So, how did you guys know where to find me?” I ask as we run. “I don’t have my phone or watch communicator on me.”

“Thank Zeke,” says Rose. “He tracked the van you were in down on CCTV.”

“On top of that, he gave us these really cool watches that can we can use to disguise ourselves,” says Carrie holding the wrist that the watch is up. “On top of _that_ , he’s got a soft spot for…”

“Carrie!” Rose screams, flustered.

“Guys, now’s not the time for this!” says Oscar. “We’ve still got a long way to go before we get of here.”

“ _If_ we get out of here!” I say, pointing. “Look!”

We skid to a halt. At the end of the corridor, there’s a group of SKUL agents – about twenty or so – blocking our exit.

“Back the way we came!” says Carrie.

We turn… only to find another group of SKUL agents blocking the way – along with Agent Alberts.

“Oh, crap,” I murmur. “We’re surrounded.”

The team and I stand back-to-back with each other as the SKUL agents move towards us.

“End of the line for you, Miss Brownstone,” says Agent Alberts. “Along with your pesky MI9 friends, too.”

“Well, guys, it’s been a pleasure working with you – even though we haven’t actually done a mission together,” I say.

“Don’t be blue, Jen,” says Carrie. “We’ve still got the CA1000.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

Right on cue, someone breaks through a wall which causes the SKUL agents to stop where they are. I squint into the thick dust and debris to see who could’ve done that. I blink a few times and focus properly. I stare at the person who came through the wall – and I let out a gasp.

It’s… the Cat!?

“What the fu…?” I gasp again and clamp my hand over my mouth.

“Your ‘sister’,” says Carrie, making two quote marks with her fingers.

“The Cat Android 1000,” Oscar whispers to me. “Zeke built this in case you were injured in an accident and needed time to heal.”

“Or you were kidnapped by SKUL and told them that you weren’t who you say you were, even though you are.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod. “Yeah, that… that makes sense.”

“The Cat!” Agent Alberts exclaims, pointing at the android. “Agents, take aim and fire!”

The team and I lay flat on the floor as the SKUL agents take out their guns and start firing at the android. I can the bullets ricocheting – I don’t know if they’re hitting the CA1000 or the walls.

Then silence.

A horrible, still silence.

I slowly open one eye and look to the Cat Android… to see that she’s still standing. There are no holes in her. Zeke must have used a special bulletproof coating. I look to the SKUL agents. They all have the same horrified look on their faces.

“But… but… but that’s not possible,” Agent Alberts murmur, looking up and down at the Cat Android. “What in the blue blazes are you?”

The Cat Android smirks at Agent Alberts. “Something you won’t remember,” she says. Crikey, she even sounds exactly like me! Suddenly, the eyes of the android changes from brown to red.

“Cover your eyes!” says Rose, covering her eyes with her hands.

I lie back down on the ground and cover my eyes – and for extra caution, I squeeze my eyes shut real tight. Just then, I hear a noisy, camera-like sound. And then the sounds of bodies landing on the floor with a _thud_.

Then silence.

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

Then I hear the voice of the Cat Android say, “You can open your eyes now.”

Removing my hands from my eyes, I slowly start to sit up. Then I slowly open my eyes. When my eyes are adjusted, I see that Agent Alberts and the rest of the SKUL agents are lying on the floor. I look up and find the Cat Android holding her hand out for me. I take it and I get pulled to my feet.

“What did you do to the SKUL agents?” I ask the android.

“I simply erased their memories with the neuralyzer that Master Zeke installed in my eyes,” she tells me. “The flash in the neuralyzer is powerful enough to wipe the last seven days from the human brain.”

“You mean they’ll never know that the Cat and I are the same person? I mean never ever?”

“Affirmative.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Zeke Williams, you are most definitely the man.”

“How long will they be unconscious for?” Rose asks.

“They will be unconscious for exactly thirty minutes,” the Cat Android replies. “And when they wake up, they will find that they will be without vision for the next forty-eight hours.”

“By that time, they’ll be inside an MI9 prison cell,” says Carrie.

“Speaking of which, we better get out of here before more agents show up,” says Oscar.

“I have checked the computer system of SKUL and it shows that these are the only agents within the vicinity,” says the Cat Android.

“Ah,” I ah-ed. “That explains why the lights that went out – you hacked into their computer system.”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s what I love about Zeke – he thinks of everything!”

“Or a certain someone,” says Carrie, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Shut _up_ , Carrie!” says Rose, nudging her.

I shake my head, laughing. “Come on, guys – let’s get out of here.”

The team and I follow the Cat Android down the corridor. Even though the Cat Android told us that there are no other SKUL agents about, I still feel the need to be cautious and glance at any of the doors that are opened just a crack. I go on like this until we emerge outside, greeted by the SWAT team, their guns pointing at me, the team and the Cat Android.

“It’s OK, men, they’re MI9!” I heard someone say, and I recognize the voice before I see the face.

It’s Frank.

“It’s OK, you can lower your guns – they are on our side,” he tells the SWAT team. He catches his eyes with mine and smiles. I smile back. He rushes over and envelopes me in a huge hug. “I’m so glad that you’re OK,” he tells me.

“Me, too,” I sniff.

When we pull away, Frank leans his head down and kisses me. Then he takes my hand and leads me to an ambulance where the paramedics dress my cuts and grazes, and wrap a blanket around me. I see Zeke running to me, with the Cat Android following behind.

“Zeke!” I cry.

“Jenny! Thank God you’re all right,” he says.

“Thanks for using the Cat Android – who I didn’t know you made into a spitting image of me – to save me. As well as using the neuralyzer to erase the SKUL agents’ memories”

“No problem.”

I nod – but then, something comes to me. “CA1000, when you checked the names of the SKUL agents in the computer system, did the Grandmaster’s name appear on it?”

“Negative. The Grandmaster’s name did not show up on the system.”

I put my hand to my forehead. “Oh no,” I say with a groan.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Zeke asks.

I sigh. “The Grandmaster still knows who I am,” I tell him. “Oh God. He’s going to the pass the information to every SKUL agent in the country. I’m gonna have to go on the run. My family will have to go into witness protection. My life is over.”

“Why would your life be over?”

I raise my eyes to see Frank standing with two cups of tea in his hands.

“Well, uh…” I stammer. How am I going to break the news to him? We’ve just gotten back together.

“Jen?” Frank is looking at me, waiting for a reply.

“Er… well… You see, Frank… I… I…”

_Bleep bleep bleep_

“Huh?” Zeke takes out his D-Transceiver. There’s a bewildered look on his face. “What the…? Jen, look at this.”

I take the device from Zeke. My eyes widen when I see the message.

_To Miss Jenny Brownstone,_

_I know you have concerns about the Grandmaster knowing your identity as the Cat. But you have nothing to fear. Before the Grandmaster made his exit, I slipped a Mickey in his drink, which temporarily sedated him. While sedated, the Grandmaster was put under a hypnotic state due to effects of the drug and I told him to forget about you, your ‘twin sister’ Claudia and your identity as the Cat. So you have nothing to worry about. And as for me knowing about your secret, do not worry. Your secret is safe with me. Trust me – for I am like you, an MI9 agent._

_I wish you the best of luck_

_The Mole_

“Oh wow!” I murmur. “Can’t you believe it, Zeke? This guy’s an MI9 agent – working undercover at SKUL!”

“He must be the best,” says Zeke. “He hacked into the D-Transceiver!”

“Ahem!”

Zeke and I look at to find Frank still standing in front of us.

“In case you have forgotten, I’m still here!” Frank says patiently. “Now would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Oh right,” I say. Zeke and I exchange glances. “Well, you see, Frank… I just wanted to know… how I was going to explain my whereabouts to Aunt Hermione and the police.”

He raises one eyebrow slightly. “Oh.”

“Exactly. I can’t exactly tell them I spent the night with you or friends now, can I? Also” – I hold up my hands and nod at my knees – “how do I explain my injuries?”

“Don’t worry, Jen,” says Zeke. “The Cat Android will take care of it.”

“That’s very nice of you, Zeke, but I don’t really want to explain to Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie why they’ve been without vision for two days.”

“Well, that’s the thing about the neuralyzer – it can erase the memories of the past hours, days, weeks, months or years, depending on the chosen settings. The only reason why the SKUL agents are suffering from the side effects of the device is because I set it on the highest flash setting.”

“So, the neuralyzer is safe to use?” Frank asks.

“Precisely. When activated, the neuralyzer will give a bright flash – like any normal camera would – and your memories will be wiped. So your aunt and uncle and the police will be fine. So what, we erase the last twelve hours?”

“Um, I was thinking maybe thirty-six hours,” I say.

“A day and a half? Why that length of time?” Frank asks.

I shrug. “No reason.” No way am I not doing chores for a month! “Anyway, I’m exhausted – not to mention hungry.”

“Here, get this down you.” Frank hands me the cup. “Then afterwards, we can go back to my place. I’ll be sweet to you. I’ll massage your forehead – and your shoulders – and your feet…”

“You’ll feed me grapes, too?”

“If you like.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” I take a sip of the tea. “By the way, MI9 need a new receptionist.”

After been checked over once more, the paramedics let me go… then I hear a commotion. I look to the entrance under the bridge to see the SWAT officers grappling with the SKUL agents who, I can guess, are fully awake, and now realising that they are blind as a bat.

“Let go of me!” I hear someone growl. It’s Agent Alberts. “Where are you taking me?” she shouts. “Why can’t I see? What is going on?” One of the officers gives Alberts a hard shove towards one of the black prison vans. Alberts nearly stumbles, but the other officer catches her by the arm.

I watch as Alberts disappears into the van. The door slams behind her. The two officers hop into the front and the van starts. My eyes follow the van until it disappears around the corner.

I don’t realize that Frank is taking my hand and squeezing it. “Hey,” he says, “you OK?”

I look into Frank’s warm blue eyes and smile. “Just fine. By the way” – I give him a tender kiss on the lips – “Happy anniversary.”

“You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered. Now let’s go home to celebrate what’s left of this special occasion. I just hope that next year, you’re not the one who’s gonna get kidnapped.”

Frank laughs. Then he puts my arm around my shoulders and guides me to the car.


	33. Beaver Fever

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I groan as I hear the sound of ‘Love Is Doin’ It to Me’ when I walk into the music classroom for the last lesson. And there’s a reason for it. Jason Beaver. A sixteen-year-old Ken doll lookalike who at this very moment is not only top of the music charts but has three other records ‘bubbling under’. To everyone else, he’s a suave, kind-hearted, smooth-talking singer, but to me, he’s the most annoying piece of turd to walk the Earth since Justin Bieber who, by the way, I hate as well. The media has even dubbed Beaver as ‘the British Justin Bieber’. God, if there was going to be a fight between Beaver and Bieber it would have to be a draw because I’m gonna be the one to shoot them both so I don’t have to hear or see them ever again.

Davina springs up and goes into a dance routine. “Love is doin’ it to me, yeah, love is doin’ it to me, love is doin’ it (doin’ it),” she sings along with Beaver on the iPod.

“Aaaargh, I can’t stand it! I can’t bloody stand it,” I moan.

Davina looks up. “What? What’s the matter?”

I point to her iPod Touch. “ _That_. Jason Beaver. Everywhere I’ve been today, _everyone’s_ been playing his stupid song – TV, radio, the Internet, iPod’s… I can’t get away from it. What is wrong with everyone?”

“But Jenny, Jason Beaver is, like, the hottest new pop star on the planet right now. He sings songs with an upbeat sound and has catchy lyrics. His music is very cool and hip. On top of that” – Davina reaches for her schoolbag to show me a poster of the brown-haired, blue-eyed singer – “He’s gorgeous! His face, voice…” She sighs dreamily. “He’s like Justin Bieber.”

“Oh! So he’s a pretentious, arrogant douchebag that I’d like to punch in the face without getting tired of it,” I say, walking past the poster and plonking my bag on my desk.

“Wow, Jenny, you must really hate him,” says Avril.

“With a burning passion. People like him are the reason why good music is dying,” I tell her. “In my day, bands like Boyz II Men, Take That, Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys and ‘N Sync were the best-looking people in the music business – with the best music in the world. And the only news you needed to hear from them were what award they won, their engagement and wedding, the birth of their children and their breakup. Now, you’ve got your Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, Big Time Rush, One Direction, The Wanted and all those other annoying little pricks literally making a song and dance about what controversy BS they get up to.”

“But Jason isn’t like that!” Davina protests. “He’s kind, he’s gentle and he’s generous. He never lets his success go to his head and he likes to keep his private life to himself – though, I do know a few things about him. His favourite colour is blue, he likes dancing and he likes spending most of his free time helping people and rescuing stray animals…”

“The makings of a proper, proper, proper arsehole,” I declare – and everyone, except Davina, cracks up laughing. “Listen, Davina dear, you may think that Jason Beaver is some charming, confident, and elegant heartthrob who would get your heart pumping when you see or hear him, but soon you’re gonna find that he’s like any male celebrity – an arrogant and obnoxious douche. Now can you him off so we can start the lesson?”

“But, Jenny…!”

“Now, Davina.”

She groans, but does what I say. Normally, I’m a placid, contented person, and I’ll let people play music during the music lesson. But since it’s Jason Beaver, there’s no way I can have that playing in the background during the lesson without me wanting to throw the music player and the person who owns it out the window.

But when the lesson is finished and school is out, ‘Love Is Doin’ It to Me’ starts playing again.

“God,” I groan as the song echoes through the corridors, “I can’t stand that song. And I sure as hell can’t stand Jason ‘the Butt-head’ Beaver.”

“So I take it you wouldn’t want his album as a birthday present.” I look up to see Carrie standing in the doorway – along with Rose and Oscar.

“If you get me that for my birthday, I will give you detention every night until you leave this place,” I tell Carrie – to which she laughs. Just then, my watch communicator vibrates and the teams’ pencil communicators go off.

“Time to kick some bad guy butt,” says Carrie. “Maybe that’ll take your mind off Jason.”

“Anything’s better than listening to that pretty-boy idol,” I say as we head to the broom cupboard. “Seriously, if someone plays his stupid song one more time, I will kill them.”

When we get to the broom cupboard, Oscar slides open the light switch and places his thumb on the panel. When the light goes green, Rose opens the door and enters the cupboard with the rest of us following. After the door closes, Carrie pulls the lever, and five seconds after the alarm rings, the floor gives way and the elevator takes us down to HQ.

Let the games begin.

**(Frank’s POV)**

While I wait for the team to come down to HQ, I set up the gadgets needed for the mission, with Jason Beaver playing in the background. I know Jenny can’t stick this guy, but he is part of the mission… That’s if she’s up for it.

_SWOOSH!_

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” I hear Jenny wail.

“Ah. Team, Jenny, you’re here,” I say, turning to face them.

“Frank, you have exactly five seconds to turn that bloody racket off or so help me God I’m gonna smash that radio over your head!” she warns me.

“Better do what she says, Frank,” says Oscar. “She said that she was gonna kill the next person who played a Jason Beaver song.”

“Besides, you know how much I hate this guy. Why are you even playing his song?”

“Um… w-well… You see…” I falter as I turn the radio off.

Jenny narrows her eyes at me. “Frank, what’s going on?”

“Please don’t hate me, but…” I turn on the computer screen… to reveal a headshot photograph of Jason Beaver.

“Oh hell no!” Jenny exclaims, looking absolutely horrified. “You cannot be serious!”

“Now before you lose your rag, let me explain what the mission is about.”

She has her arms tightly crossed over her chest and she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Now as you all know, Jason Beaver is the pop world’s latest idol. His meteoric rise to stardom is making fans swoon at his feet all over the UK and his single is ‘Love Is Doin’ It to Me’ is top of the charts.”

“So what seems to be the problem?” Rose asks.

“Over the last few weeks, there have been reports of missing people from all over the country. The people who have disappeared all attended a Jason Beaver concert.”

“How is he doing it?” Oscar asks.

“That’s where you come in. The four of you are going on tour with Jason, disguised, as his support band.”

“Wow! Really?! We’ll be playing in a band?” Carrie squeals. “This is so cool!”

“It’s all very well that we’re gonna be playing in a band, but there is one teeny tiny problem… some of us don’t know how to play instruments!” says Jenny. “On top of that, some of us don’t know how to sing… oh and cherry on top, what songs are we going to sing?”

“I’ve got a solution to those problems.” I hold up a black choker necklace. “The Voice Enhancer – guaranteed to give you the perfect singing voice and” – I open a small case to reveal contact lenses – “the Absorb Anything Contact Lenses – it allows you to replicate any physical motion you witness without having to practice it.”

“Awesome!” says Carrie.

I hold up another gadget – a hairdryer. “You also have the Tornado Hairdryer 3000 – it can blow out powerful gusts of wind. It can also work in reverse and vacuum in large amounts of wind. I also have this…” I hold up two large textbooks. “Your _How to… Play Musical Instruments_ books. And finally…” I hand Jenny a black notebook. “A lyric and sheet music book.”

She flicks through the pages – then stops on one of the pages. “What the…? ‘On the Edge’ – lyrics by… Frank London?!”

I go red and clear my throat. “Yes.”

“Oh my God!” Jenny shows the others the book. “I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“I was in a band at university. It was me, Andy Mills and Sean Reynolds. We were called Throne Island. I was the songwriter… and drummer of the group.”

“Well, that’s my theory proved – geeks really do have more fun.”

I clear my throat again. “Yes, quite. Anyway, you’ll be staying with Jason at the Sanderson Hotel in Soho tomorrow. A car will pick you up after school to take you there. So now you’re ready… Good luck, team. Or in other words, break a leg!” I laugh – only to stop suddenly when I see no-one else laughing. “No? OK.”

“Anyway,” says Jenny, swiftly changing the subject, “we better go home and get practising. By the way, since we’re going to be a band for the next few days, what are we going to call ourselves?”

“How about ‘Throne Island’?” Oscar jokes – and the girls laugh.

Typical.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The next day after school, I tell Aunt Hermione that I’ll be spending the weekend at a friend’s house, when in reality, I’m gonna be spending the weekend with the most obnoxiously annoying person in Britain – Jason Beaver. It’s a clear, cool afternoon when I step out of the school with my red weekend roller case, more like spring than autumn. I hurry across the playground to the black van that’s parked outside the kerb. The front door opens and a black-suited man in sunglasses hops out. He takes my case and puts it in the trunk. Then he slides the back door open and I climb in, where Rose, Carrie and Oscar are already waiting for me. After I slide into my seat, the MI9 agent pulls the van from the kerb and heads for Soho.

“Time for a quick change, I think,” I say to the three young spies.

Nodding in agreement, we use our watches to change into pop idols. I change into indigo skinny jeans and a pale blue vest, teamed with a faux-fur-lined blue boots, and a white skinny scarf. A lavender fedora completes the look.

I look to the others and they certainly look like pop idols. Rose has on a dark grey ripped tee with a super-contemporary pink skull and crossbones motif and proclaimed in big black letters: ‘HARD ROCK’, a pink camouflage miniskirt, black leggings and black hi-top Converse shoes, with big, bold accessories such as the silver dog tag necklaces, the pink sweatband with a black skull and crossbones motif and black cuffs with silver studs, and a stylish pink biker cap. Oscar is wearing a slightly transparent grey T-shirt with a dark denim blue shirt on top, black slim fit jeans and black hi-top sneakers. And Carrie is sporting a jersey lilac dress combined with a matching faux-fur bolero, along with a red chain-link necklace and long, cream boots with a gold stun trim.

“So are you guys excited about meeting Jason Beaver?” Carrie asks excitedly.

“I can hardly contain myself,” I say sarcastically.

“Aw, come on, Jen! It’s not every day you get to meet a famous celebrity.”

“Yeah – a famous celebrity who happens to make thousands of people vanish into thin air.” I lean back into my seat and groan. “I can’t believe I have to be spending the next few days with this punk.”

“There is a bright side to this,” says Oscar.

“What’s that?”

“If he is really responsible for this, you can be the one to arrest him and tell the world how evil he is.”

“Oh yeah!” I sit up. “I never really thought of it like that. Thanks, Oscar.”

I spend the rest of journey in a happy thought about how I get to take down the superficial, high and mighty twerp of a singer.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at the Sanderson Hotel forty-five minutes later. We use the back entrance to get in as the front is absolutely crowded with fans – mostly female. But when we step into the lobby, it’s extravagant! The main entrance is constructed with steel and glass frontage reflecting architecture of the 1960s, and features a grand staircase which ascends against a huge stained glass mural masking the lift shafts.

“Amazing!” says Rose, gazing around the room.

“Totally super-cool,” agreed Carrie.

We go over to the check-in desk and get our room key. Two porters take our bags and lead us up to our room.

“Wow!” I rave, walking around the innovative room. The room is spacious airy well-lit and encompass the height of luxury and style. It features a mostly all-white colour palette designed without interior walls and a floor-to-ceiling glass facade that diffuses natural light through flowing layers of ethereal sheer curtains that divide different areas of the room. Design touches include carpets with Voltaire’s handwriting, a paintings bolted to the ceiling above the beds – ‘The Cloud’ by Swedish painter, Prince Eugen, the Duke of Närke, and a luxurious bathroom, with a separate walk-in shower and a freestanding soaking tub. “It’s like a surreal Cocteau-like dream world epitomizing a new luxury that is smart pared down and tempered with a healthy dose of wit and irony. In other words, it’s fantastic!”

“Jason Beaver has such a luxury lifestyle,” says Carrie.

“The fans down on the street are going crazy for him,” says Oscar, standing by the window looking down.

“So this is what it means to be rich, successful and admired,” says Rose, sitting on the egg chair.

There’s a knock at the door. I go over and open the door. Standing in the doorway is a tall, slightly obese man – though he looks like he works a bit because he’s quite muscular. His hair is dark and long, tied into a low ponytail and he has a goatee. He’s wearing a black faux leather jacket, a white T-shirt, torn faded blue jeans, and his sunglasses has blue tinted lenses and a golden frame.

“Here they are. My little ‘Throne Islanders’! Ha ha!” he says, coming into the room.

“Er… who are you?” I ask, closing the door.

“Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Jay Oz, the tour manager,” he says – then he kisses the back of my hand. “How do you do?”

“Oh, hi! Yes, that’s us; we’re ‘Throne Island’. I’m JB; I’m the lead vocalist and lead guitarist.” I nod to Carrie. “That’s Cassie; she’s the bass guitarist of the group.” I point to Rose by the bed. “Roz is our other guitarist and Colt” – I point at Oscar by the windows – “is our drummer.”

“Jason is really looking forward to meeting you. Let’s go up to his penthouse.”

We follow Jay out of the room and to a private elevator at the end of the corridor where it takes us up to the very top floor of the hotel. When the doors part open, we step into the large apartment. I gaze in awe at the floor space of the penthouse – it’s bigger the rooms of my house! The penthouse also features high-end stainless steel appliances from the luxury kitchen, a granite counter-top and a breakfast bar/island, the finest materials fitting, a luxurious flooring system, a fireplace, and more. But it’s the fine view of the city skyline beyond the oversized windows that gets my attention – not to mention the swimming pool, Jacuzzi and an outdoor wet bar on the rooftop terrace.

“Whoa!” I exclaim. “Talk about life on top.”

“Ah, here he is!” says Jay. We turn to the staircase next to us and descending down the steps is Jason Beaver. He’s wearing a denim blue jacket over a black and white stripe top, dark green skinny jeans and white Converse shoes. “Hey, Jason! I just heard the new song and it’s great.” Jay gives Jason two thumbs-up.

“Thanks, Jay,” says Jason.

“Jason, this is the band that’ll be supporting you while you’re in London – Throne Island.”

“Hey, guys.”

“Hi, Jason!” says Carrie. “We’re _soo_ excited to be on tour with you.”

“After all, you are a megastar, aren’t you?” says Oscar.

“Thanks,” says Jason. “You’re music is great too.”

“Anyway, enough chit-chat,” says Jay. “We have to get back to work, Mr. Popstar; we can’t keep the fans waiting.”

“OK.”

We all pile into the elevator and head down to the ground floor. As we leave the hotel, we are greeted by thousands of crazy fans desperate for an autograph, a photograph or even a kiss from Jason Beaver. He manages to get a few autographs and a couple of pictures taken before Jay whisks him away to the silver minivan that’s waiting for him. We all pile into the minivan and soon speed off to the Hammersmith Apollo.

xxoOoxx

When we arrive at the Apollo half an hour later, we see that the roadies are setting up the stage for tonight. Jay takes Jason to his dressing room while Oscar, Rose, Carrie and I climb on to the stage to practise our opening number. We work out how we can perform to the audience and how we can adapt our stage moves to fill the area. We didn’t need to practise a lot as we have the Absorb Anything Contact Lenses and the Voice Enhancer Necklaces to do all the work for us.

“Man, I’m parched!” says Carrie when we finished. “I wonder where we can get some food.”

“There may be some backstage,” I tell her. “Let’s go and find out.”

Backstage is insanely busy. The stage managers are showing the music technicians where to put the musical equipment and checking that the instruments are in tune, the audio engineer is setting up the sound equipment, and the lighting technicians are rigging the stage and controlling the artificial, electric lights. I also notice a lot of security/bodyguards hanging outside Jason’s dressing room, but I brush it aside as it could be to stop anyone who is not a roadie or a musician sneaking around.

“Hey, look over there,” says Carrie, pointing.

There’s a large table holding cups fills with juice and bottles of water, along with sandwiches and other snacks. We head for the table and pick up some sandwiches and bottles of water. As we head back to the stage, I knock into one of the roadies by accident, causing me to drop the bottles.

“Oh!” I cry. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Just watch where you’re going, all right?” the man says, leaving in a hurry to the dressing rooms.

“Humph! Rude much?”

“You OK, Jen?” Carrie asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Unlike some people.” As I bend down to pick up the bottles of water, something catches my eye. Something glimmering. I turn to the object – and find that it’s a CD… and it’s glowing in a bright yellow colour! “Hey! That’s strange, that CD’s glowing!”

“What?!” Carrie kneels down to look at the shining object. “Whoa! That really is strange,” she says.

“Let’s take it back to Rose. Maybe she can find out why it’s glowing.”

Carrie picks up the glowing disc and hides it under the plate of sandwiches. We hurry back to Rose and Oscar and show Rose the CD.

“What is going on?” she says, examining the fluorescent yellow disc. “Jason seems normal but his fans are crazy. And his CD’s glow.”

“Looks like there’s more to Jason Beaver than meets the eye,” says Oscar.

“Hmm. I’ll have to examine the CD more thoroughly after the concert,” says Rose, pocketing the illuminating disc.

As she does, I quickly turn to the wing of the stage… but there’s no-one there. I could’ve sworn that someone was watching us.

“Jenny? Is there something wrong?” Rose asks.

“I thought someone was spying on us…” I say. “But maybe it’s just my imagination. Anyway, we can’t just stand around all day. We’ve got a concert to perform.”

As we get ready for our big night and practise for our debut as Throne Island, I can’t shake the feeling that someone was watching us. It’s most definitely has to do with the glowing CD that we picked up. And it may have something to do with the disappearances.

Question is who was the person who was spying on us?

xxoOoxx

I’m in my dressing room, putting the final touches of my makeup on when the door opens and the stage manager tells me I have five minutes to finish up before I go on stage.

“Don’t be long,” he orders. “Can’t keep the public waiting.” Then he closes the door behind him.

I stare at myself for a long time after he’d gone. I’d never thought I’d be performing at the Apollo. The last time I came here was with my sister back in 2011 to see Jessie J perform.

I push back my chair and taking a deep breath; I stand up and pull off the robe I’m wearing to reveal my outfit for tonight. A black and red goth glam ensemble that features a lace up corset top and a short flared skirt with tons of netting so it stands out around me. Red tartan trims the sides of the corset and peeps from the underskirt. I’ve also got on vibrant red fishnet stockings, edgy black peep-toe boots, and red tartan fingerless gloves. My black hair has strawberry blonde highlights and is pulled into a high ponytail, and the chunky silver spider necklace that I’ve got on glinted in the lights around the mirror.

“Time to rock and roll,” I say to myself. I pick up my yellow electric guitar that’s splashed with black and head out of the dressing room.

The stage manager takes me to the side of the stage where the others are waiting for me, and they look awesome! Rose is wearing a dark blue boob tube with a sweetheart neckline, a silver chain with a pendant, denim blue jeans emblazoned with ‘I ♥ Rock n’ Roll’, and black patent ankle strap wooden platform wedges. Black bracelets dangles from her wrists and she’s wearing pink tinted sunglasses on top of her feathered hair, and she has her bright blue guitar with her. Carrie ensemble features a brown and white tulle skirt, a khaki green military-inspired jacket with a silver keepsake pin and black knee-high boots, with a big, bold afro wig and a light grey bass guitar to match. Finally, Oscar is wearing a long-sleeved dark grey shirt over black leather trousers with black boots. The drumsticks are tucked under his belt.

“Hey, guys! You look _great_ ,” I say.

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself,” says Oscar.

“When we done with this mission, I am _so_ taking this outfit home,” says Carrie.

I peek out of the side of the stage. Wow! Every seat is filled. My stomach is doing jumping jacks. This is definitely different to the shows I do in St Hope’s. Just calm down, Jen, I order myself. This is supposed to be fun – remember?

The MC is on stage, talking to the audience, telling jokes and anecdotes.

“OK, guys, before we bring out the main event, I hope you guys enjoy the band that is supporting Mr. Beaver!” the MC shouts into the mike. “I want you to put your hands together and give it up for Throne Island!”

“OK, guys, let’s do this!” I say, strapping on my guitar. Rose and Carrie do the same and Oscar takes out his drumsticks. Then we step on to the stage and towards the microphone.

The spotlights are blinding. It all feels so unreal. Just breathe, Jenny, I tell myself. It’s going to be OK. Oh God, please don’t let me fall over or dry up or forget the words – please, please, please.

“Hello London!” I call. There’s a huge cheer. “We’re Throne Island. We’re here, you’re there and we are ready to rock this place!”

There’s an even louder cheer than before, and we start our first song ‘On the Edge’, putting all our energy into the performance… This is our moment. It’s going to be all right.

I play the first chords of the song and then we launch into the first verse.

_Can’t control the music, can’t control the song,_

_When I feel the rhythm I’ve just gotta sing along!_

_Livin’ on the edge, feelin’ wild and free!_

_Chillin’ with my friends, it’s the only way to be!_

We give the most electrifying performances. Everyone in the arena is soon singing along and clapping.

“Can you believe this?” Carrie asks as Rose launches into a solo riff.

“It’s amazing!” I agreed. “If I wasn’t a spy, I would be doing this every night!”

I have to admit, this is fun. But performing in front of a mirror with a hairbrush is very different from performing on stage to an audience of thousands! I can never do what the pop stars do – but since I’m on a mission, I really don’t have a lot of choice! But like I said before, this is awesome.

At the end of the song, the audience erupts into cheers and applause and I look to the others. Rose and Carrie are high-fiving each other and Oscar holds his drumsticks in the air. It’s so totally brilliant.

After that, we launch into the next song.

xxoOoxx

Half an hour later when our set is over, we wave goodnight to the audience and hurry backstage to get refreshments and to rest.

“This has got to be the best mission I have ever been on,” Carrie says quietly, taking off her giant afro wig.

“Mmmm,” I say, sipping my bottle of water. “The atmosphere out there was electrifying. I feel like I’m on top of the world.”

“I’m just glad that it’s over and done with,” says Rose.

“Amen to that,” says Oscar, letting out huge sigh.

“Hey guys!” Jason calls to us. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a plum coloured T-shirt with an extreme low V at the front and black skinny jeans with dark red braces, and white Converse shoes. “I’ve just heard you perform, and you were all fantastic. Great job, guys! Great job!”

“OK, gang, this is the moment you have been waiting for!” says the MC. “I want you all to be on your feet, chanting his name and clapping your hands until it’s sore, it’s Jason Beaver!”

“Oh, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys later!”

The crowd cheer like mad as Jason walks out to centre stage, everyone chanting his name… “Jason, Jason, Jason!”

He takes his bow, drinking in the ecstatic faces, the hands reaching up in desperation to touch him, as he bathes in the glow of being a celebrity…

“Huh?” I see something at the far end of the room backstage. A muscular, bald-headed, black-suited dark-skinned man wearing dark glasses and one ear pierced is holding an illuminating object in his hand. It’s the CD that Carrie and I found earlier on! “Guys, look at that.”

“Jenny? What’s wrong?” says Oscar.

I point to the bald dark man holding the glowing CD. He plays it in the music system and presses a button on the machine. We look to Jason when the music starts up and he sings ‘Love Is Doin’ It to Me’. Or so we think…

“He’s miming!” Carrie gasps. “So much for Jason being normal.”

“The CD that the guy put in the music system is a recording,” says Oscar.

“That’s not all that’s strange. Did you see how the guy was dressed?” I say. “He doesn’t look like your normal sound mixer.

“Also, where is Jay?” Carrie asks. “Shouldn’t he be here cheering Jason on and buzzing about how money he’s making out of this?”

“You’re right, Carrie. There’s something fishy about this – we better check this out.”

“You guys go on,” says Rose. “I’ll keep an eye on Jason.”

Oscar, Carrie and I leave backstage and enter the corridor to find Jay. But as we look for him, we find that there is more security than before.

“Hey, watch it! We’re the support band,” says Carrie, flashing her ID badge to the bodyguards.

“I wonder why there’s so much security,” Oscar enquires.

“Maybe it’s something to do with the you-know-what that we saw,” I tell him, taking care not to say ‘glowing CD’ in case the security guards get wind of this.

We find Jay in the green room, overlooking the concert hall. But when we enter the room, we discover the strangest thing – we can’t hear anything! No Jason singing(!), the crowd screaming and cheering and chanting his name – nothing! The only thing we hear in this room is Jay phone conversation.

“…Everything’s fine, Mr. Harlow, sir,” he says. “The only problem… is those kids from the support band…” Jay looks up when he sees me, Carrie and Oscar. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” He hangs up and gingerly pockets his phone. “Oh, hi! What’s up, guys? Are you having fun?”

“Sure, the only thing is we must be going deaf,” I say.

“Yeah – because we can’t hear any noise coming from the concert hall,” says Carrie.

“Oh, that!” Jay stammers. “You see, this room is totally sound-proofed.”

“ _Sound-proofed?!_ ” Oscar, Carrie and I cry in unison.

“But why?” Carrie asks.

“You know how it is…” Jay is struggling to come up with an excuse. “Hearing the same song over and over again, you just get tired of it. Plus, the thousands of screaming fans really does my head in.”

“OK…” I say slowly. “Well, that’s that question answered. Now how about telling us why Jason is miming rather than singing.”

After a slight pause, Jay stares into my eyes and says, “People would prefer a recording rather than someone singing live.”

Jay continues to fix his gaze onto me, as if to say ‘Don’t ask anymore questions’.

“Fine,” I reply after a long silence. “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”

I turn and leave the green room, with Oscar and Carrie following behind.

“Are you OK, Jenny?” Oscar asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I murmur. Then I add, “There’s something weird about this whole mission. I mean sound-proof rooms? Glowing CD’s? And Jason doesn’t even sing his songs.”

“There’s also that guy that Jay was talking to – Mr. Harlow?” says Carrie. “I wonder who he is.”

“We can call Frank and ask him about Harlow after the concert,” says Oscar.

“Good idea,” I say. “Speaking of which, we better head back there. I don’t like the looks we’re getting from the security guards.”

We head back to the stage to enjoy the rest of the concert, ignoring the looks that we are getting from security.

I’ve been on some weird missions, but this has to be the strangest one so far. Just what is it that Jason Beaver and Jay Oz are hiding? Who was the person who was spying on us? And who is Mr. Harlow?

xxoOoxx

Five hours later when the concert is finished, a very tired Rose, Oscar, Carrie and I clamber into the minivan with Jason and Jay. As we travel back to the hotel, I notice how Rose looks jittery – like she’s hardly able to keep still. And she keeps muttering something under her breath.

“Hey, Rose? You OK?” I ask her.

“I have to join the Army,” she mumbles. “I have to join the Army.”

“Eh?!” I reach out to her but she slaps my hand away.

“Let go of me!” she cries. Then she mumbles the same sentence over and over again: “I have to join the Army.”

I look to the Carrie and Oscar who both have confused and worried looks on their faces.

“Is everything OK back there?” Jay calls from the passenger seat next to the driver.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Everything’s cool.” Then I turn to the others. “Something weird is going on here,” I whisper. “Rose keeps going on about wanting to join the Army.”

“Why would she want to do that?” Carrie mutters.

“I don’t know. But Jason Beaver, Jay Oz and the mysterious Mr. Harlow have something to do with this.” I glance at my watch. It’s half past twelve. “It’s a too late to call Frank, and we don’t want Jay to get suspicious of us for making a late-night call to someone who isn’t working at the Sanderson Hotel, so we’ll try in the morning.”

Oscar and Carrie nod in agreement, and we sit back in silence for the rest of the journey.

When we arrive back at the hotel, we take Rose – who keeps struggling and muttering – back to our room and to her bed, where we knock her out with a spray. Then we get changed and get ready for bed.

“I hope we’re doing the right thing – knocking Rose out like that,” says Carrie with a wide yawn.

“We had to, Carrie,” I say, snuggling down into my bed. “It’s the only way to stop her from wandering into the night, like those poor people who attended tonight’s concert are about to do.”

“Jenny’s right,” says Oscar, flicking out the light. “And it’s only for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll call Frank, who will send someone to pick Rose up and they’ll find out what’s wrong with her.”

“Hmmm. I suppose so,” says Carrie in the dark. “Anyway, goodnight, guys.”

“Night,” Oscar and I say – and then we drift off to sleep.

xxoOoxx

The next morning, I hop out of bed and head for the bathroom to use the toilet. The clock says 8:30 when I come back. I walk to the window and press my forehead against the cool glass. The sun, still low in the east, is trying to burn through the yellow morning haze.

I stand there for nearly a minute. Then I walk over to Rose’s bed to see how she is. The duvet is covering her whole head, so I pull it back to make it easily for Rose to breathe… only to find a pillow under the cover!

“What the…?” I pull back the duvet to find that it’s only pillows in the bed. “Oh crap!” I go to Carrie and Oscar’s bed and wake them up by shaking them. “Guys, get up!”

“Mmm…?” Carrie stirs noisily and looks up. “Jenny?” Her eyes only half open, her face filled with confusion.

“What’s going on?” Oscar asks, yawning. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Then he stares at me. “You OK? You look _terrible_.”

“And you would be too,” I say – then I step aside to show Oscar and Carrie Rose’s empty bed. “Rose is gone.”

“What?” Carrie cries. “But how? The knockout gas was supposed to incapacitate her for at least twelve hours!”

“She must be sleepwalking. But it shouldn’t be too much of a problem – if she’s wearing her Disguise Watch or has her pencil communicator, we’ll be able to track her down, along with the thousands upon thousands of people who attended Jason Beaver’s concert.”

“Er, actually, Jen, there could be a slight problem.” Oscar goes over to Rose’s bed and holds up her watch and communicator. “And that’s not all – the CD that Rose wanted to inspect is gone too.”

“Shit,” I curse. “Well, that’s just great. Not only is Rose missing – along with the thousands upon thousands of people who attended Jason Beaver’s concert – but she’s left her watch and communicator here, meaning we can’t track her! Not only that, but the only evidence we had on this mission gone as well. Fuck!”

“So what do we do now?” Carrie asks.

I rub my face and sigh. “Pass me my phone – I’m gonna call Frank.”

Carrie tosses my phone to me. I contact Frank via videophone. The phone rings for ages at Frank’s house. He’s probably asleep – it is a Saturday morning after all. Eventually, he answers – bedhead and all.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“Jenny?” Frank’s voice is still choked with sleep. “What time is it?”

“It’s early. But putting that aside, we’ve got problems. Rose is missing.”

“Missing?” Frank sits up, wide awake in a moment. “What do you mean?”

“She, along with thousands of people who came to Jason’s concert last night, has disappeared without a trace. And before you ask, no, we can’t track her down because she’s left her Disguise Watch and pencil communicator behind.”

“How could this have happened?”

“I don’t know. She was fine when we played our set, but after the concert she started mumbling about how she wanted to join the Army.”

“The Army?” Frank looks very confused.

“And that’s not all,” says Oscar. “Jason doesn’t even sing at his concerts – he mimes. The recordings of his songs are on this weird, glowing CD, which by the way, is missing.”

“Miming singers? Glowing CD’s?”

“On top of that, when we went to the green room at the Apollo, it was completely sound-proof,” Carrie adds. “Jay said that he couldn’t stand hearing the same song over and over again, as well as the screaming fans.”

“Who’s Jay?” Frank asks.

“Jay Oz is the Jason’s tour manager,” I say. “He looked very suspicious when we asked him about the green room and Jason’s ‘singing’. Before we saw him, he was on the phone to someone called Mr. Harlow. He told him that there was a problem with me, Oscar, Carrie and Rose.”

“Oh dear. Well, that can’t be good. OK, let me do a background check on this Jay Oz and Mr. Harlow.”

“What about Rose?” Oscar asks.

“I’ll check if she’s at any of the barracks in and around London. If she says she wants to join the Army, that’s where she must be. We will find her, team, don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” I say. “Thanks, anyway. Call us if you’ve come up trumps.”

“I will.”

There’s a knock at the door after I hang up. I quickly throw the cover over the pillows while Oscar goes over to the door and opens it. It’s Jay.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he says, stepping into the room. “Listen, Jason was wondering if you’d like to spend the day with him. You know, shopping, lunch and all that stuff.”

“Er… well… you see…” Carrie starts.

“We’d love to,” I say.

“We do?” Carrie and Oscar say in unison.

“Yeah. We don’t have anything worth doing today, so yeah, OK.”

“Yeah. OK,” they say, looking very bewildered.

“Great!” Jay turns to leave when he sees Rose’s bed. “Oh, er, is your friend still sleeping?”

“Oh, er, yeah. She was completely wiped out with last night’s concert. She looked like she was about ready to tip over.”

“OK, then. Well, er, I’ll see you guys in about half an hour.” Jay leaves our room, closing the door behind him.

“Why did you say we were spending the day with Jason?” Oscar hisses.

“If we say no, Jay will get suspicious of us. He’s already doubting us enough as it is already,” I tell him. “We have to carry on as normal. We need to know why Jason, Jay and Mr. Harlow want Rose and the concert-goers. OK?”

Oscar glances at Carrie who nods at him. “OK,” he nods.

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to have a shower,” I say, collecting my wash bag and heading for the bathroom.

“Don’t be too long!” Carrie calls.

After I close the door and lock it, I turn the knob of the shower on. Then I get undressed and step into the hot, steamy glass panelled stall.

“Don’t worry, Rose. We will find you – the others, too,” I say to myself as I stand under the pounding hot water, allowing my muscles to relax. “And we’ll stop whatever plan Jason, Jay and Harlow are coming up with. I promise.”


	34. The Ambition of Nathan Harlow

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The next few hours are a whirl of photo shoots, interviews, fabulous restaurants and amazing venues. Oscar, Carrie and I should be in heaven… but we’re not.

Rose is missing – along with the thousands of Jason Beaver fans who went to his concert last night – and we have no idea where she is as she left her Disguise Watch and pencil communicator behind. To make things worse, the only evidence we had on this mission – the glowing CD – is gone, too. Rose must’ve taken it with her when she disappeared.

Oscar, Carrie and I try to be as normal as possible but it’s proving to be difficult as I keep looking at my phone every thirty seconds to see if Frank has texted and the other two are drooping miserably over their food. And it seems that we’re not the only ones who’s distracted – Jay keeps sending and receiving texts (from Mr. Harlow, I presume), while Jason keeps nattering away without pausing for breath. He doesn’t even care that no-one is listening; he keeps going on and on and on. What is wrong with this guy? Other than the fact he doesn’t sing his songs.

“Anyway, guys, I hope you’re coming with me to my recording studio to hear my new song,” says Jason. “It’s gonna be totally cool, totally fresh and totally funky, and it’s gonna get people jumping on their feet… on their feet… on their f-f-f-feet…”

“Ehh?” Carrie, Oscar and I stare at Jason with confused expressions.

“Their f-f-f-feet… f-f-f-feet… f-f-f-feet…” Jason keeps stuttering.

“Oh, er, excuse us, kids,” says Jay, standing up. “Let me just, er…” He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence. Instead he takes the stammering Jason by the arm and starts to lead him to the men’s room at the back of the restaurant.

After they disappear, I stare at Oscar and Carrie who both have the same perplexed expressions on their faces that I’ve got.

“Can someone explain what just happened here?” I ask.

“It seems that Jason has a… stuttering problem,” says Oscar, still stunned.

“But we’ve just spent half the day – as well as yesterday – with him and he seemed all right to me,” says Carrie. “Well… until now, that is.”

Just then, my phone rings. It’s a video call from Frank.

“Hey, you,” I answer.

“Hi,” he says. “How’s it going over there?”

“Beyond the boundaries of weird. We were just have lunch with Jason, and he was talking about inviting us to his recording studio to hear his songs when suddenly, he started stuttering!”

“Stuttering?”

“Yeah,” Carrie breaks in, “like some… malfunctioning robot!”

“Hmm. That is most strange indeed. Where is Jason now?”

“In the men’s room with Jay,” says Oscar.

“He couldn’t be arsed to come up with an excuse as to why Jason’s acting like this,” I say. “Anyway, how are things up your end? How you found Rose?”

“No luck, I’m afraid. But I did find some information on Jay Oz and Mr. Harlow. While Joseph Osborn – Jay Oz’s real name – is your typical, run-of-the-mill music producer and tour manager, Mr. Harlow is actually Lieutenant Nathan Harlow of the British Army.”

“ _What_?” we say loudly, causing everyone in the restaurant to stare at us.

Then I clear my throat and say quietly, “Are you serious?”

“I am absolutely serious.”

“But what would an Army Lieutenant be doing with a pop singer and his producer?” Oscar asks.

“We’ll find out more when we get to Jason’s recording studio.” I look to see Jason and Jay coming out of the bathroom and heading to our table. “Uh-oh, they’re coming over. We gotta go, Frank – bye!” I hang up, and quickly slide my phone into my pocket.

“Sorry we took so long, kids,” says Jay. “Jason had some food lodged in his throat and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by coughing it out in public.”

What a lamebrain excuse! Even Pinocchio can think of better lies than that.

“Anyway,” Jay continues, “how about I pay the bill and we can shoot over to the studio for a jamming session, eh?”

After he pays the bill, Jay calls for a car to pick us up. A few minutes later, a black car with matching tinted windows arrives outside the restaurant. We all pile in, even though there’s a tight squeeze at the back, but we soon venture of to the recording studio.

xxoOoxx

It’s about an hour and a half later when we finally get to the recording studio – all the way in Chelmsford, Essex! But rather than the studio being held in a small office building in the middle of town, the studio is actually held in what looks like – and probably is – a military airbase on the outskirts of town. The base is heavily guarded and protected, with high, anti-scale fencing stretched along the perimeter of the base. The two access roads that lead to the base contain military checkpoints, with armed guards inspecting any personnel that arrive. The base also one main airstrip, one secondary airstrip, three large hangars, a few smaller hangars, a munitions depot, a fire and rescue station, a refinery, an air traffic control tower, a main office, and some barracks.

“Why do they need an army of security people by those hangars?” Oscar quietly asks as we go past it.

“Who knows? But we’ll find out soon enough,” I whisper.

The car stops outside the main office – a large six-storey tower, and everyone, except the driver, climbs out of the car and enter the facility. We follow Jay through the large reception area to the elevator where it takes us up to the second floor. When we come out of the lift, we walk down the hallway with several doors along it until we stop outside the door to our left labelled CONTROL ROOM.

“If you would to step inside,” says Jay after he unlocks the door and opens it for us.

We enter the room. The facility features a professional audio mixing console with specialized software suites to manipulate and route the sound for analogue and/or digital recordings. There’s a large window in front of us that sees into the studio, where Jason is. The studio is filled with various instruments – electric guitars, a drum kit, a piano, a saxophone and a trumpet. Jason sit on a tall stool, strap on an acoustic guitar and puts on his headphones.

After comes into the control room, he sits on one of the swivel chairs. “OK, Jason, whenever you’re ready,” he says into the microphone.

Jason starts strumming on the strings of the guitar, and then he begins to sing the opening lines of his song.

_When I take the floor,_

_As I’ve often done before,_

_I feel a change come over me (over me),_

_I get such a thrill,_

_It feels like time is standing still,_

_And starlight is the only thing I see…_

We clap after Jason finishes.

“That was great, Jason!” Jay says. “That was cool!”

“Thanks, Jay,” he says, flashing us a smile.

“Right, let’s get started with the new song – ‘Under My Spell’.”

“‘Under My Spell’? That’s a somewhat unusual name for a song,” I whisper to Oscar and Carrie.

Jason gets comfortable when the music starts up and after the opening bars; he opens his mouth and starts to sing.

_Under my spell you’ll like it so well,_

_No problems, no worries,_

_Under my spell you’ll like it so well,_

_No reasons to worry…_

“Hmm… Th-this is… so good, I’m getting addicted,” I hear Carrie say, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression.

“I love Jason’s new song,” Oscar says dreamily. “Jason’s music is heavenly. It is beautiful.”

“Huh? What are you guys talking about – mnnn… nn!” My head starts to feel fuzzy as I hear Jason sing. I try to resist, but it’s no use. It’s like he’s… he’s brainwashing me. Brainwashing me into doing something… joining something…

“Under my spell, no need to rebel, your heart is running riot, under my spell, under my spell… my spell… m-m-my spell… m-m-my spell…” Jason stammers again which causes me, Oscar and Carrie to break from his hypnotic spell.

“Mmm? Huh?” Carrie says, feeling a bit dizzy. “What’s going on?”

“Look!” I say, pointing. “Jason’s stammering out again.”

“M-m-my spell… m-m-my spell…” Jason continues to stutter.

Jay quickly exits the control room and heads for the studio and takes Jason out. Oscar, Carrie and I leave the control room to try and follow Jay and Jason, but Jay stops us.

“N-nothing to worry about, kids,” he says. “Jason’s just feeling a bit under the weather. I-I’m just gonna go and… you know…” Jay leads Jason to the elevator, and they go up, leaving Oscar, Carrie and I in the corridor. We retreat back into the control room.

“It happened again,” I say, closing the door behind me. “Jason spazzed out again, but guess this – no food in sight.”

“And the song he sang,” says Carrie. “It sounded so… hypnotic. Like he was controlling you with the music. I mean what is going on here?”

“I think it’s time to take a closer look around this ‘recording studio’,” says Oscar.

“I totally agree,” I say. “Guys, let’s spy up.” Opening my watch communicator, I press the blue button above the keypads and change into my spy outfit. Oscar and Carrie do the same with their Disguise Watches. “Right, let’s do this.” I open the door and leave the control room – only to jump back in when the elevator stops on the floor we’re on and the doors open. I crotch down and raise a finger to my lips to Oscar and Carrie signalling them to stay quiet while we wait for whomever to go past our door. I quietly open the door and see the security guard, who was probably monitoring the corridors, enter the elevator, taking him down. “That was close,” I say, standing up. “Looks like we can’t walk around like this. Hold on to me, guys.” Carrie links her arm mine and Oscar takes the other. I open my watch communicator. “Activate cloaking device.” I render myself, along with Carrie and Oscar invisible.

“Wow!” Carrie exclaims, looking down at her invisible body. “This is so cool!”

“I know,” I say. “Now let’s find out what Jay Oz is really hiding.”

Oscar opens the door and the three of us leave the control room and head for the elevator. When the lift comes to our floor, the doors open and we enter.

“What floor?” Oscar asks.

“Top floor,” I say. “That’s usually where all the secrets are kept.”

Carrie pushes the ‘6’ button and the lift takes us all the way up. Once we reach the floor, we walk down the long corridor. When we turn a corner, we see a large metal door at the end of the corridor. We go up to it – only to find that we need a code to open the door.

“I’ve got this,” says Oscar. He takes out his Spy-Pod and holds it over the buttons. After a few seconds, he enters the code and the door slides open.

“Nice,” I tell him. We enter the room, the door closing behind us. It’s a large laboratory, with many complex panels, screens, and computers. In the centre of the room is a large glass cylinder, and there’s also an isolation booth. “Deactivate cloaking device,” I say, and our bodies become visible. “Right, let’s look for clues – though, this laboratory is a big enough clue as it is.”

Oscar takes the left side of the room, Carrie takes the right and I take the centre. I head for the computers and start typing to see if I can find anything. After a minute or so, a list – a massive list – appears on the screen.

“Whoa,” I murmur, my eyes darting down at the long list. As I do a run-down of the list, I notice that there’s a list of places and their locations – the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, Glasgow, the Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool, the Royal Concert Hall, Nottingham and… the Hammersmith Apollo, London. “No way! Guys, I’ve got something. It’s a list of all the concert venues that Jason performed at. The list contains the names of everyone who went to his concerts. They must be in those hangars that we went past. Rose’s name must be in the system, too and she must be in the hangar too.”

Silence.

“Er, guys? Did you hear what I said? The list of people who went to Beaver’s concert is on this computer,” I say again.

No reply.

“OK, guys, whatever stunt you’re pulling is so not…” I turn around and stop mid-sentence as I stare at what Oscar and Carrie are looking at. “What the heck?” I leave the computer and head to the glass cylinder. There’s someone in there. I say someone – it’s an android. There are wires and a USB drive coming from the control panel on their back. But when I go to see who’s in the glass cylinder, I get the shock of my life. It’s Jason Beaver! “Oh… my… God,” I say, stunned. “Jason is a robot.”

“This explains why he keeps his private life to himself,” says Carrie.

“And why he was stuttering,” says Oscar.

Then we hear voices coming outside.

“Quick, hide!” I say.

All three of us hide underneath a large workstation desk. We hear the door sliding open. I peek my head out from the side of the desk to see Jay Oz entering the room, along with a security guard and a third man. He is a tall, slender and slightly muscular man in his late-forties, early fifties, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He’s wearing a khaki jacket and trousers, with shirt and tie and a peaked cap.

“The man who looks like an extra from the Village People must be Mr. Harlow,” I whisper to Oscar and Carrie.

“The new song is ready, Mr. Harlow, sir,” Jay says.

“Excellent!” says Harlow. “I want to hear it now. Has the special frequency been set?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Guard, step into the isolation booth!”

“Yes sir!” says the guard, saluting Harlow.

The guard enters the booth near where we are.

“We’d like to know what you think of the new song,” says Jay, taking out a glowing CD from the inside of his jacket. He places the CD in the music system by the booth.

“Cover your ears!” Oscar tells me and Carrie.

We do what he says. Then Jay presses play on the music system and the song starts to play.

“Hummmhum… Mmhummhum… Mmhum!” the song hums.

Then Jay stops the song and opens the booth, and out steps the guard. He looks like he’s in a state of trance – like he’s being hypnotized.

“So… what do you think?” Harlow asks the guard.

“I have to join the Army,” says the guard as drool trickles from his mouth. “To protect my Queen and country… I have to join the Army.”

“Ha-ha-haaa!” Harlow laughs. “Thank you my good man, you may go.”

Suddenly it comes to me. “Of course! The CD!” I mutter. “There’s a message in the CD – a subliminal recruiting message – to join the Army.”

“That would explain why Rose keeping saying she wants to join the Army,” Carrie murmurs.

“And why the green room was soundproofed,” Oscar whisper.

“And why everyone has disappeared,” I say. “They’ve all decided to join the Army!”

“Security! We have intruders!” Harlow yells when he sees us under the desk. Crap!

“AAAAA!” Oscar, Carrie and I scream. We jump out of our hiding place. Harlow tries to make a grab for Carrie, but she kicks him hard in the stomach.

“Oof!” Harlow groans, clutching his stomach.

“Quick, we’ve got to get away!” she cries.

“You don’t have to tell us twice! Let’s get outta here!” says Oscar.

Oscar leads the way out of the door, running at full speed. Carrie and I are right behind him. The alarms in the corridors blare loudly as we make our escape. We reach the elevator at the end of the corridor, but the doors open and five security guards exit the lift.

“Damn! We’re trapped!” says Oscar.

I spot the fire exit nearby. “Not yet! This way!” I say, pointing to the exit. “The stairs lead to the roof.”

We take off again. The guards are following behind, but from my utility belt, I snap off one of the canisters and pour out the Slo-Mo Bombs, causing the guards to step on them and slowing them down.

“Let’s go!” I tell Oscar and Carrie, and we carry on up the stairs. “If there’s a helicopter on the roof, I can take us all back to London.”

Up and up and up – and then we reach the door. Wrenching the door open, we find ourselves on the roof… only to be met by a helicopter.

“What’s that?” Carrie asks.

Suddenly the helicopter fires a bubble at Oscar, Carrie and I at great velocity and with great force, trapping us. We try to punch and kick our way out of the bubble but I don’t think this bubble is bursting anytime soon. Then, we see Jay and Harlow approaching us.

“Let us go!” I shout.

“But you don’t want to leave us already,” Harlow sneers. Then he lets out an evil laugh.

Oh boy.

xxoOoxx

“Get in there!” says the security guard when he shoves me in the studio with Oscar and Carrie. After he shuts the door, I go for the handle, but it won’t open. I brace my shoulder against it and shove, but the door still won’t budge.

“Now look at that…” I hear Harlow say in the control room, “it seems that our support band were spies. To be more specific, child spies. The government must be desperate.”

“Hey!” I cry. “I have you know that I am _not_ a child – I am twenty-four years old!”

“Does it look like I care?”

“Grrrr…!” I growl, baring my teeth.

“Why are you doing this, Harlow?” Oscar asks.

“It’s simple, really. I am working to recruit people for the British Army. I thought you of all people would have known that.”

“But why use a singer – or should I say an android – for the recruiting?” Carrie asks.

“Countries like China and North Korea have often used bands for recruiting…”

“That’s because they run a dictatorship!” I say.

“Like I said,” Harlow snarls, “countries like China and Korea have used bands to recruit and by creating the perfect teen idol, people will worship Jason Beaver and do whatever he tells them to do – like tonight, at his final concert at the Royal Albert Hall. It’s gonna be broadcast live around the country. After the concert, Jason will have millions of devoted fans. And these slaves will help me and the rest of the British Army to help win the war against Afghanistan!”

“But this isn’t the way to do it!” I exclaim. “If you want people to join the Army you have to advertise yourself – through TV, radio. Go travelling to schools up and down the country, for God’s sake!”

“But it doesn’t work! You kids are all too interested in your blockbuster movies and your video games. You all live in a fantasy world. Well, let’s see have fantasized everyone will be when they’re drop in an Afghan village filled with bullets, mortar and dead bodies!”

“This guy seriously needs some therapy,” says Carrie.

“Ain’t that the truth?” I say.

Jay looks at his watch. “Sir, we need to get going.”

“Sorry that I’ve got to cut this meeting short, but I have a concert to attend to. It’ll be devastating if I miss the show,” says Harlow. “But don’t worry… I’ll see to it that you’ll be the first to hear his new song.” He presses play on the control panel, and ‘Under My Spell’ comes on through the speakers of the studio. “See you all later… officer cadets.” Then he leaves the control room with Jay, leaving Oscar, Carrie and I in the studio with Beaver’s awful music.

“Cover your ears!” I tell Oscar and Carrie.

They do what I say.

“So this is it then. We’re trapped,” says Carrie.

“There must be a way out of here,” says Oscar. “We can’t cover our ears forever!”

I look around the room to see if there’s anything to break down the door or the window. But there’s nothing but instruments in the room… Instruments… Hey, that’s it!

“Guys! We can use the instruments to escape,” I say.

“Great!” Carrie seizes an electric guitar and raises it in the air, ready to smash the window.

“Er, Carrie, not like that,” I tell her.

“Huh?”

“Strap the guitar on. Oscar, get on the drums.”

Carrie straps on the guitar and Oscar gets seated at the drums. I head for the large speakers and turn the dial on the loudest volume. Then I hand Oscar and Carrie headphones so we don’t get deafened. Then I put on my headphones and strap on a guitar.

“OK, guys, on my count,” I say. “One, two, three.”

Carrie and I play a power chord on the guitars and Oscar beats loudly on the drums. The sounds of the instruments are so loud that it shatters and destroys the window.

“And that how you escape,” I say, taking the guitar and the headphones off. “Now, let’s go!”

We climb out of the studio – being careful not to cut ourselves – then we head for the elevator taking us down to ground level. Then we find ourselves outside of the facility.

“I better call Frank and tell him to send agents down here,” I say.

Before I can open my watch communicator and make the call, an army of security guards appear.

“Intruders!” says one of them.

“What do we do now?” Carrie asks.

“What do you think – run!” says Oscar.

We make a run for it, dodging any of the guards who come for us. One of them makes a grab at me, but my hand flies out and I scratch his face. He screams and staggers, clutching his head.

I spot fire station. If there’s a fire truck in there, I can drive us back to London. “Head for the fire station!” I yell. “Quickly!”

We head for the station. But when we get there, we find that the door is padlocked.

“Dammit!” I exclaim, kicking the door.

Then we hear the cocking of guns. We turn around to see the guards have their guns pointed at us.

“Great!” Carrie says sarcastically. “We’re trapped – again!”

“What do we do now?” Oscar asks.

“Oh, er… uhm…” Come on, come on, come on! Think, think, think! There must be something – _anything_! After some serious thinking, it hits me. “Tornado Hairdryer 3000!” I take my backpack off and bring out the hairdryer. “Hang on! It’s about to get blustery!” I point the Hairdryer at the guards and flip the switch.

A tornado comes out of the Hairdryer and coming in contact with the guards, the twister sucks them in.

“AAAAAHH!” the guards scream.

After about a minute, I switch off the Hairdryer, causing the guards to come crashing down to the ground.

“Urrn…” the guards moan. One of them even ends up throwing up. Ugh – carrot and coriander.

“Wow. Talk about your bad hair days,” says Carrie.

“Well, that’s what happens when villains come between a girl and her accessories,” I say, putting the Hairdryer back into the backpack.

“Actually… I was talking about you.”

“What?” I take out a small mirror and gasp in shock when I see that my hair is sticky up all over the place. It’s like I had an electric shock. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Er, rather than worrying about how your hair looks, shouldn’t we be call for back-up?” Oscar interjects.

As he says these very words a fleet of black cars and vans arrive out of nowhere. The doors open and out pops out black-suited agents and the SWAT team – it’s MI9! Then the sound of a helicopter fills the skies. It lowers itself and lands quite near where Oscar, Carrie and I are standing. The door of the helicopter opens and more agents hop out – including Frank!

“Frank!” I cry, running up to him.

“Hey there – oh,” says Frank when he sees my hair. “I, er, love what you did with your hair.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Remind me to laugh later.”

“Frank!” Oscar and Carrie have caught up now.

“How did you know where we were?” I ask Frank.

“GPS,” he replies. “When I saw that you, Oscar and Carrie were taken out of London, I called in for some back-up. So what’s being happening here?”

“It turns out that I was right all along – Jason Beaver is an android!” says Carrie. “That’s why he doesn’t sing his own songs, and why he was stuttering.”

“And that’s not all – Lieutenant Harlow is using subliminal messages in Jason’s songs to recruit people into the Army,” says Oscar. “That’s why everyone has disappeared without a trace – including Rose.”

“So where could they be?” Frank asks.

“Remember when we went past the hangars and there were a ton of people guarding them?” I say to Oscar. “I think I know where they are.”

I lead Frank and the other agents to the three large hangars across the base. When we get there we find that like the fire station, the door is padlocked.

“Great,” Oscar mutters. “Now what?”

Then one of the agents approaches us with a key. “Got this from one of the guards.”

I take the key from the male agent and fit it in the lock. The key turns and unlocks the padlock. Then two agents slide the doors open. Inside we see thousands and thousands of people inside the hangar lying or sitting on mattresses, mumbling the same sentence over again: “I have to join the Army.”

“Whoa,” I murmur.

“Check the other two hangars,” I hear Frank tell the other agents.

“I wonder if Rose is here,” says Carrie.

“Never mind that. We need to find out how to stop an Army Lieutenant, a music producer and an android from brainwashing an entire nation!” says Oscar.

“But how?” I ask.

“Hey, remember when we were listening to Jason’s song and we were almost under his spell when he started to falter,” says Carrie.

“Yes, of course! His mild malfunction caused us to break from his mind control. Carrie you’re a genius!”

“It has been said.”

“So we need to cause a huge malfunction on Jason so he will no longer have any recruiting power,” says Oscar.

“Exactly.” I look down at my watch. It’s quarter to seven. “We need to get to London right now, before it’s too late.”

“Take the helicopter,” says Frank. “I’ll stay here and try and find Rose.”

“Get someone to bring a radio in here. The broadcast is live – maybe Jason’s computer breakdown will reverse the effects of everyone here,” I say.

Frank orders the agents to get some TVs and radios, while Oscar, Carrie and I head for the helicopter. We hop in and strap ourselves in as the pilot starts the engine and takes us back to London.

xxoOoxx

It’s about twenty past seven when we arrive at the Royal Albert Hall. There are lots of people wearing Jason T-shirts and entering the concert hall. The pilot nears the helicopter close – but not too close – to the balcony of the concert hall. I jump first. I make it to the balcony. I don’t even fall over. I land on my feet. Carrie goes next, bending her knees and springing and landing perfectly like any gymnast should. Finally Oscar. He leaps for it, teetering on the balcony, and then landing on me and Carrie.

“Sorry,” he says, getting up and dusting himself down.

“No problem,” says Carrie, getting up. “Now let’s stop this transmission.”

I head for one of the windows and placing my foot on the glass, activate the Rocket Go-Go Boot. The heat from the boot breaks and smashes the window, spraying the glass all over the place inside. I peer in, making sure that’s no-one is around, then I spring right through the window, covering my head as I do a forward roll so I don’t cut myself on the broken glass. I get up and brush myself down, and help Oscar and Carrie into the building. We sprint through the corridor until we reach an elevator. We enter the lift to us down to ground level. I lead the team through the corridors. We keep going until we reach the grand tier of the auditorium. I look around – everyone is getting into their seats and the TV crew have finished setting up their equipment.

“Come on,” I say, and set off again down the stairs to the stage where we find the door to the backstage area is wide open.

We peer through the doorway to see Jason being surrounded by security/bodyguards. One of the security men has the glowing CD in his hand. He’s about to put the CD in the system when I pull out a small boomerang from my utility belt and throw the weapon at the man, knocking the CD out of his hand.

“Hey!” the man cries. Then he sees us.

“Coo-ee!” I wave at the man, waggling my fingers extravagantly.

“Hi!” says Jason, waving back.

“Get them!” the man orders the others.

The security men and the bodyguards come charging at us.

“Carrie, hold out your arms,” I say.

Carrie holds her arms out in front of her and taking them; I lift her up and pivot, spinning her around, her legs knocking the burly men to the ground.

“OK, that was fun,” Carrie says after I set her down.

The security men get and shake their heads. Then they charge at us again.

“Split up!” I say to Oscar and Carrie.

Oscar takes the right side and Carrie takes the left while I take the centre, and we launch into an attack. One of the men comes at me, but I jump up and kick the man on the side of his head, knocking him out. Another man comes running at me but I face away from him, spin around in place and strike the man’s face with the back of my elbow. After the man falls to the ground, I dart my eyes to see two more brawny men coming at me from different directions. But before they can reach me, I jump up and execute a split kick where both legs are kicked out like snap kicks in opposite directions. Immediately afterwards, I then begin to rotate my body in order to swing one of my legs around into a hook kick when another security man comes at me. I go back into a defensive stance to see if anyone else wants a piece of me, but I can see that Oscar and Carrie have taken care of the others. Oscar bashes the heads of two of the bodyguards and Carrie finishes one of the security men off by doing the splits, and then she punches man in the groin, causing him to bowl over and go into the foetal position.

“Impressive,” I tell Oscar and Carrie.

“Thanks,” they say.

“Right, that’s them taken care of. Now let’s stop the transmission.”

As I say these words we hear loud cheering.

“Jason! Jason! Jason!” the audience chants.

“Oh no! They’re starting the show. We’re too late!” says Carrie.

“Hahahaha!” one of the security men laughs. “That’s right. And there’s nothing you brats can do about it. Hahaha…!” His laughter is cut off when Oscar runs over to him and punches him across the face, knocking him out.

I run over to the music system, and unsheathing the Feline Fight Claws from my gloves, I slice the music system into pieces, including the glowing CD. “And that’s the end of that!” I say triumphantly.

“Under my spell you’ll like it so well, no problems, no worries…” I hear Jason sing.

“What the hell?! I just shredded the sound system!” I cry. “Why is Jason still singing?”

“Harlow must have downloaded the songs into Jason,” says Oscar.

“There has to be a way to stop the live transmission. If we don’t do something, the whole country will be turned into zombified Army cadets!” says Carrie.

“The only way to stop Jason is through a major malfunction. But how can we get him to have a breakdown?”

“There’s only one way: an electric shock,” I say. “And what’s more shocking than the Lipstick Stun Gun?” I bring out the Stun Gun from my utility belt.

“Great idea!” says Carrie. “But how will you get to Jason?”

With a smirk, I open my watch communicator. “Activate cloaking device.” And my body becomes invisible. “See you in a few.”

I take a deep breath and then I walk out on to the stage. As I stand there, I watch as everyone in the auditorium has gone into a hypnotic state, including the TV crew and the presenters. I turn to Jason – he’s still singing his song. Suddenly, I feel a pinch in my head.

“Argh, his music is starting to affect me,” I say to myself. “I better put a stop to this.”

I rush over to Jason, clutching my head in pain and trying to resist his singing, and open the panel on his back.

“Sorry, Beaver, but there’s only so many annoying musical pricks in the world that I can deal with and unfortunately, you can’t be one of them,” I tell him. I jab the Lipstick Stun Gun into the panel. Then I step back as Jason’s body becomes surrounded by sparks.

“Under my… under my spell you’ll like it so well… Under my spell… m-m-my spell, m-m-my spell, s-s-spell, s-s-spell, s-s-spell…” Jason stammers as sparks comes off his body.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say – and my body becomes visible.

“Jenny!”

I turn to see Oscar and Carrie coming on stage.

“Get back!” I tell them. “He’s about to blow!”

We take cover as the electricity grows bigger around Jason as he continues to stutter.

“U-u-under my spell… m-m-my spell… m-m-my s-s-spell…” Then seconds later, Jason explodes with a _bom_!

After the explosion, I slowly stand up and look to the place where Jason stood. There’s nothing left of him but the black hi-top shoes from where he stood.

“Jen! You did it!” Oscar exclaims.

“Urnn…?” Everyone in the auditorium start to wake up from their trance. “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Thank God. Everyone’s back to normal,” says Carrie.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Jason?” the audience murmur.

“We better make ourselves scarce before everyone figures out that we killed Jason – even though he was a robot,” I say.

We exit through the backstage area and after dashing through the corridors, we make it outside the concert hall. Then we hear the sound of a helicopter.

“That must be MI9!” says Carrie, and then she starts jumping up and down and waving her arms in the air.

“Er, Carrie, I don’t think that’s MI9,” say Oscar. “Look closely.”

I squint my eyes. I see that it’s a military helicopter.

“Oh crap. It’s Harlow!” I say.

The helicopter starts to lower itself down on us. Suddenly, a laser fires from the barrels under the helicopter.

“Watch out!” I cry, and I leap out of the way.

Harlow keeps firing the laser but we keep performing backflips and somersaults between the beams.

“We need to stop him before he fries us!” says Oscar.

“And I’ve got just the thing!” I take out the Tornado Hairdryer 3000 and flicking the switch; a twister comes out of the Hairdryer and sucks in the helicopter.

“WHOOOAAA!” I hear Harlow scream.

After a minute, Harlow and Jay get tossed out of the helicopter and land in the branches of some trees in a nearby park. Then the resultant tornado tosses the helicopter in the park, where it lands with a large _crash_!

“Nice going, Jen!” says Oscar, coming up to me.

“Yeah! You certainly kicked butt,” says Carrie as she catches up.

“It’s all part of the job,” I say with a wink.

“U-urrnn…” Harlow moans, looking incredibly dizzy.

“M-mmm, I-I think I’m gonna be sick…” Jay groans before he ends up hurling… again… and again… and again.

Just then, a fleet of black cars arrive at the scene. This time, it’s MI9. I peer through the crowd of agents and see Frank coming out from one of the cars. Rose is with him too. She sees me and waves. Thank God, she’s back to normal.

“Hi, guys!” she says when she approaches us.

“Rose! You’re OK!” says Carrie, wrapping her arms around Rose.

“Careful!” says Rose – but she laughs.

“Thank God you’re all right, Rose,” says Oscar, giving her a hug.

“When Frank found me, he drove us back to London with the radio on so the effects of Jason’s singing could be reversed live.”

“And it worked! Well done, team,” says Frank. “Well done, Jenny.” He gives me a peck on the cheek.

“Without Jenny, Jason would have possessed the whole country,” says Oscar.

“Unhand me, you cretins! Don’t you know who I am?!” I hear Harlow shout as the agents take him and Jay away. “I am Lieutenant Nathan Harlow of the British Army! Let go of me! I said let go of me! I’ll have your jobs for this!”

“Hold this,” I say, handing the Tornado Hairdryer 3000 to Oscar. I run over to the agents handling Harlow and Jay. “Wait!” I tell the agents. “Could you guys give me one second with Mr. Harlow and Mr. Oz?”

The agents stare at me – but they step back from Harlow and Jay.

“There’s just one thing I wanna say to you guys…” I say to the Army Lieutenant and music producer.

“And what’s that?” Harlow snarls.

With a smirk on my face, I deliver a kick to Harlow’s chin, and then I sweep my leg at his feet, tripping him. Then I strike Jay in the midsection with the point of my foot, causing him to bend over. Then I raise my knee so that it hits Jay in the face, knocking him back.

“That’s for creating an android of the worst singer in the world!” I yell.

“Urrnn…” Harlow and Jay groan.

I smile at the agents. “OK, you can take them away now,” I say, and then I hop back to Frank and the other. “Ah, I feel so much better now.”

Frank, Oscar, Rose and Carrie stare at me for a moment – then they burst out laughing. I join in, too.

The perfect end to a mission.

xxoOoxx

“Good morning, gang!” I say to Oscar, Carrie and Rose when I see them coming into the English room for their lesson on Monday morning.

“Morning Jenny!” they say.

“Wow, someone’s happy,” says Carrie.

“Yeah! I’ve just had the best weekend ever. We stopped an evil Army Lieutenant from using music to brainwash people to force them to join the Army and I got a taste of what it’s like to be a pop star,” I say. “This has to be one of the strangest yet exciting missions I’ve ever had.”

“MI9 have concocted a cover story saying that Jason’s publicity at the Albert Hall went wrong and he’s decided to retire from the music business to become a goat herder in Boldovia,” says Rose.

“Meaning that you don’t have to see or hear Jason ever again,” Oscar adds.

“Exactly.” I lean back on my chair, head pillowed in my arms and sigh. “Yes siree, I don’t think that I’ll be hearing from anyone as annoying as Jason Beaver for a long, long tim–”

“She’s got the power, power, she’s got the power, power, power, she’s got the power…” Davina sings when she enters the room.

“Oh, my God, who the hell is that?” I say.

“The newest singer in the music biz!” Davina replies. “The media are already saying that she’s the next Miley Cyrus – it’s Millie Cyprus!” She shows me a poster of the singer. She’s a slender and beautiful young woman, with fair skin, pink lips, medium-length strawberry-blonde hair with pink highlights and blue eyes.

“What?!”

“And she has this great new track called ‘She’s Got the Power’. Isn’t it amazeballs?”

My mouth drops open as Davina continues to sing the song when she goes to her seat. “She’s got the power, power, power…”

Rose, Oscar and Carrie exchange worried looks when they see my expression.

“Uh-oh,” they say in unison.

“Here we go again,” Carrie adds.

Here we go again, indeed.

Argghhh…


	35. WINner and Losers

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Oscar and I arrive at a warehouse located on the Isle of Dogs at around 11:30 P.M. It may look like your seemingly innocent, large plain building from all outside appearances but on the inside, is something truly sinister. You see, MI9 have discovered that Colombian drug lord, Muño Martí, has been smuggling drugs out of the UK and they have assigned Oscar and I to find out how he’s doing it. So we are posing as members of the Russian Mafia who are interested in buying Martí’s… smuggled goods. My ensemble features a dark blue coat dress with golden trim, stylish black boots, a dark brown faux fur ushanka (a traditional Russian hat) and matching faux fur muff, along with a long flowing auburn wig. And Oscar is wearing a crimson red coat, boldly embellished with black and metallic golden accents, black trousers and black leather gloves, a black faux fur ushanka, and black leather boots enhance the soldier motif as he is posing as my bodyguard, as well as the help of the Age-Deceiving Pill to make him look older. He’s also wearing a dark brown wig and a gold ring with a ruby on top.

“OK, this is the place,” I say. “You ready?”

“Let’s do it,” Oscar replies.

We walk up to the door and Oscar knocks. A few seconds later, a small window on the door slides open and a pair of amber eyes stare at me and Oscar. Afterwards the window slides shut and the door opens, revealing a lean and fairly well built, average-sized young man with dark brown hair, wearing jeans and a dark-hooded sweatshirt.

“Come,” he says, “the boss is waiting for you.”

We enter the warehouse. After the man shuts the door we follow him, going past the aisles of storage racks that are filled with hundreds of thousands of boxes, and lots of people filling the shelves with those boxes. We keep going until we reach an office located on the other side of the warehouse. Inside, we see a tan-skinned, white-haired man wearing a midnight blue suit and a white shirt counting money – Muño Martí.

“Wait here,” the young man says. He knocks on the door and then opens it. “Boss, your customer is here.”

Martí looks up at me and bursts into a smile. “Ah yes! Miss Ivanov – come in, come in,” he says, putting the money away.

Alexandra Ivanov is my cover name, to further my disguise.

“Muño, how good it is to see you again,” I say in a Russian accent, air kissing him on the cheeks.

“The feeling is mutual, Alexandra,” says Martí. He looks at Oscar. “And, er, who is this?”

“My bodyguard. He is to make sure that the deal goes… swimmingly.”

“Oh, do not worry your pretty little Russian head about it, my dear. I could never double-cross a gorgeous, glamorous, and oh-so-elegant beauty should as you.”

No – but I can.

“So let’s get down to business,” says Martí, sitting at his desk. I sit across from him, with Oscar standing by my side. “So, Miss Ivanov, how much are you willing to pay for my goods?”

I snap my fingers. Oscar lays a large, sleek briefcase on the table and opens it, revealing a stack on money in £50 notes.

“£20 million,” I say. “Do not worry – they are all unmarked.”

I can see Martí practically drooling at the briefcase full of money. He takes out a stack of the money, and then he brings out a small black device and scans the money. The device gives of a beeping sound and Martí nods his head. Then he uses the device and scans the rest of the stack in the briefcase – to which the device beeps to as well.

“Sorry about that, my dear,” he says. “But I have to make sure that the money that I’m about to receive is… legit.”

I let out a mental sigh of relief. Martí has fallen for it. Only the top two stacks of money are legit – the rest are blank pieces of paper, shaped as banknotes.

“So, Miss Ivanov, how many boxes do you want?” Martí asks.

“Boxes?” I puzzle.

“Yes – every box in this warehouse contains Girl Scout cookies that are laced with cocaine.”

“Ooh. So that’s how you’re getting them out of the country.”

Martí nods. “Right under the noses of the police and MI9. I even possess a microfilm with the recipe to turn cocaine into cookies.” He takes out a small, black film case from the inside of his jacket to show me. Then he puts the case back in his pocket.

“How very clever.”

“Well, I’m not just a pretty face, you know. So, how many boxes?”

“Hmmmm,” I say thoughtfully. “How about ten thousand boxes and… I’ll have dinner with you for free.” I batter my eyelashes at him. Martí staggers, blinking rapidly. He turns red and looks totally idiotic. I sigh and stretch my arms, making out they’re aching. This action has an amazing effect on my coat. The buttons strain. Martí positively _glows_. “So… do we have a deal?”

“Do we?” he says ecstatically. Then he clears his throat. “I mean, yes, we do.” He stands up and extends his hand and we shake, cementing the deal.

Suddenly, the doors to the warehouse bursts open, and there’s a cacophony of voices and stamping of feet.

“This is MI9! Hands on your head and get down on the floor – _now_!”

“What? MI9?” says Martí, standing up and going to the door to see the commotion. “But… how did they find out?”

“I’ll give you the first clue,” I say in my normal voice.

Martí whirls around. “Miss Ivanov?”

“Actually” – I whip off my ushanka and auburn wig – “it’s Jenny Brownstone – MI9. And this is my teammate, Oscar Cole.”

“What’s up?” he says, removing his hat and wig.

“You… MI9?” Martí says in disbelief. “But… but I thought we had a connection!”

“OK, two things: one, I’ve got a boyfriend and two, the only connection you’ll be getting is a very bad Internet one because you’re gonna be spending the rest of your days in prison.”

Martí’s face turns into a scowl. “Grrrr,” he growls. Then he goes into his pocket and whips out a handgun – only for Oscar to point the ring at the gun, firing a red beam at the gun. “Ouch!” Martí screams, dropping the red hot gun and watches in horror as the gun melt into a black blob.

“Never underestimate the power of the Heat-Ray Ring, Martí,” says Oscar, pointing the ring at him. “Now put your hands on your head and get down on the ground.”

Martí’s eyes glares angrily again, but he does what Oscar says and places his hands behind his head and gets down on his knees.

“There’s no way this will stand up in court,” he says. “You have no evidence saying that I’m smuggling drugs.”

“That’s what you think,” I say, standing up to removing one of Oscar’s fake eyebrows. “Eyebrow Cameras – designed to video capture and record its primary function, i.e. your confession of how you smuggle drugs, as well as the microfilm containing the recipe for turning cocaine into cookies. Pretty neat gadget, don’t you think?”

“You heartless, conniving bitch!” Martí curses in Spanish.

Just then, the door opens and in enters the SWAT team, their guns pointing at Martí. Two black-suited agents come into the office; one of them applies handcuffs on Martí behind his back. Then the agents pull Martí to his feet and take him away.

“You haven’t heard the last of me!” Martí yells. “D’you hear me? You haven’t heard the last of me!”

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to someone who gives a toss,” I say. “Come on, Oscar, let’s get out of here.”

We collect our hats and wigs as well as the briefcase and head out of the warehouse as the agents begin to confiscate the cookie-coke boxes. Once we’re outside, we find that Frank and Chief Agent Stark are waiting for us.

“Excellent work, guys,” says Frank, coming up to us.

“Thanks,” Oscar and I say in unison.

Frank turns to Stark. “Didn’t they do well, Chief Stark?”

Stark sighs and rolls his eyes. “I suppose you were… adequate on your mission.”

I roll my eyes in return. Stark is a real charmer, isn’t he?

Frank turns back to me. “Are you OK? Martí didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, I’m fine,” I reply. “I just wanna go home and sleep.” I let out a huge yawn and head for the car. “Here you go, Chief,” I say, handing the briefcase to Stark who glares at me – but I choose to ignore it. “Until next time.”

I’m hoping there isn’t a next time. This has to be one busy month – twenty-three missions! I have never been so exhausted in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a spy and saving the world, but there are times where it can be strenuous and tiring. It’s also extremely time-consuming, meaning I can’t do any of the things I want to do – I mean, when was the last time I pampered myself? Read a magazine? Or watched a movie?

I just hope that this mission will be the last – for a while.

xxoOoxx

The next day at school during PE, I’ve got everyone doing the multi-stage fitness test, also known as the bleep test while I sit back and watch. I say watch, I mean while I sit back and rest my eyes behind the sunglasses that I’m wearing so no-one knows that I’m sleeping. I arrived at St Hope’s so spectacularly late this morning. I overslept. Then I took such a long time getting ready because I was so tired. And then I had to walk because I missed the bus.

By the time I make it to school the bell has already gone, meaning I’ve missed first period. Luckily, today is Tuesday, meaning I only have PE to teach so I have the rest of the day to find a quiet spot to rest – or in any case, all throughout the lesson.

I wake up with a jump when the bell goes, and I realized that my arm has fallen asleep.

“Hey.”

I look up, startled to see Carrie staring down at me. She’s the only one in the gym as everyone else has gone to break.

“Carrie.”

“Late night?” She seems genuinely concerned, and I give a wry smile.

“You got that right,” I reply. “I’ve never worked so hard in my life.”

“Well it looks like that you’re gonna have to work a bit harder because Frank wants us down at HQ.”

“Great,” I mumble – but I follow Carrie out of the gym to the storage cupboard. After we enter the tiny room, I pull the lever and the lift takes us down to HQ. When we arrive there, we find Rose and Oscar at the computers and Frank looking frantic with worry. “Frank, what’s going on?” I ask.

“We have a national crisis,” he says, looking up at me. “The Prime Minister has been kidnapped.”

“What?” I gasp, my eyes going wide. “When did this happen?”

“About half an hour ago. He was supposed to be on his way to the Houses of Parliament but he never showed up. We think that he may have got in what he thought was his official car but it was a substitute. The real car was found near St James’s Park with its driver bound and gagged.”

“Rose is going through CCTV to find where the bogus car could be heading,” says Oscar.

“And I think I may have something,” Rose says. “According to footage, the bogus car was last seen heading for the Docklands area of east London.”

“But that could anywhere between Tower Hamlets and Newham,” says Carrie.

“We can worry about that later,” I say. “Right now, we’ve got a Prime Minister to save. Gadgets, Frank?”

“Just these.” He holds up a cologne bottle and a tube of lipstick. “The Instant Freeze Cologne and the Laser Lipstick. Also, take these masks so the captors don’t see who you are.” He hands each of us black domino masks. After we put on the masks, Frank hands me his car keys and Rose, Carrie, Oscar and I leave HQ.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at the Docklands region in less than twenty minutes when Rose receives a call from Frank saying that there’s a black car with no license plate parked in a remote warehouse called Tobacco Dock located near Wapping. He sends the map of the location to Rose’s Spy-Pod with a red dot flashing, and I follow the map to the location.

Five minutes later we arrive at Tobacco Dock. It is a brick building with many brick vaults and some fine ironwork. There’s a small quayside loading bay with two ships, and at its entrance stands a seven foot tall bronze sculpture of a boy standing in front of a tiger. And parked opposite the entrance is the black car with no license plate.

The team and I climb out of the car and head to the large almost-square building in Tobacco Dock marked ‘Tobacco Warehouse’. We enter the warehouse with caution, looking around the unoccupied building for clues as to where the Prime Minister could be.

Suddenly, I hear low, muffled voices. It’s coming from the far corner of the warehouse.

“Can you hear that?” I ask the others.

For a few seconds, we don’t hear anything.

Then I hear the voices again.

“I heard it,” says Carrie.

“Me too,” says Oscar and Rose.

“Right. Let’s go,” I say. I head to the door at the corner of the warehouse, the others following behind. Oscar and I stand by one side of the door; Rose and Carrie stand on the other side. “OK, on the count of three. One… two… three!” I kick the door down and rush into the next room and get into a defensive stance. “Nobody move! This is MI…” I stop suddenly when I see that three people who look around the same age as Rose, Oscar and Carrie dressed in futuristic spy suits with knee pads, elbow guards and boots tying up the Prime Minister’s captors, while a fourth person, who looks about my age, wearing a zipped jacket with gold-and-white stripes and matching trousers is releasing the Prime Minster from his restrains.

“Huh?” Rose cries out.

“What is going on?” Carrie asks.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Oscar demands.

“We are the people who just recused the Prime Minister,” the young man replies, helping the Prime Minister to his feet. “I’m Benny Braunstein. Those are my teammates – Ross Chang, Carter Stuart and Opal Coleman, and together we are the World Intelligence Network – or WIN for short.”

“And I am forever grateful for you saving me,” says the Prime Minister, shaking Benny’s hand. “Thank you very much.”

The team and I stare in shock at the WIN agents. They look like gender swap counterparts of us. My opposite, Benny, is about six feet tall and well built, and handsome, with fair skin, both brown hair and eyebrows, and blue eyes. Rose’s equal, Ross, is of Chinese descent, and slender, with black hair and dark brown eyes. Carrie’s match, Carter, is strong, with a sturdy physique, given the tightness of his spy suit, and good-looking, with medium skin tone, both orange hair and eyebrows, and blue-green eyes. And Oscar’s parallel, Opal, is a very beautiful young woman with tan skin and long, lustrous dark brown hair reaching the waist, sparkling emerald green eyes, and a distinct hourglass figure.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say.

“I can assure you that this is no joke,” says Benny. “We are the best of the best.”

“We are the cream of the crop,” Carter joins in.

“We are the elite,” Ross adds.

“Basically, we’re better than you,” Opal gloats, and then sticks her tongue out at us.

“Real mature,” Oscar mutters.

Just then, I hear voices coming from behind the team and me, and suddenly, a large group of journalists, photographers, news reporters and a camera crew come into the room, shoving the team and me to the side. The press surround the PM and the WIN agents, all at once asking the PM and the agents questions while the photographers take pictures of them.

“Who the hell invited these guys?” I say in disbelief.

“Yes, yes, my team are the ones who saved our beloved Prime Minister from these miscreants,” a woman says, nodding to the two bound captors. She’s a slender, curly-haired blonde woman with bright green eyes in her late-thirties, early-forties, dressed in a black suit with golden vest.

“Does that answer your question?” Rose asks.

“We are the new spy agency and rival organization to MI9. We are WIN – that’s the World Intelligence Network. We deal with any threats to the world that fall outside the scope of normal law enforcement groups. The agency and the team are led by me, Frances York – founder and administrator. Unlike MI9, WIN is a thousand times more effective than them, with the best advanced hi-tech gadgetry and technology in the world, as well as the finest scientists and high skilled agents. So MI9, if you’re watching, and I know those four are…” Frances turns to the team and me with a smirk on her face – as does the camera crew and photographers, “you’ve got some competition on your hands.”

I feel my cheeks burning. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of here,” I say, and I exit the room, the team following behind. “Who the hell do those WIN guys think they are?” I exclaim when we leave the warehouse, ripping off my mask. “Capturing the criminals before we arrive and then to rub our faces in it, call a news crew to tell the world that they are much better than MI9. It’s unbelievable!”

“I’m just hoping that no-one in MI9 saw the interview,” says Carrie, hopping into the car.

As I get behind the wheel, my communicator beeps. “Yes?” I answer impatiently.

“Get down to HQ immediately,” Frank tells me. “Chief Agent Stark would like to have a word with you, Rose, Oscar and Carrie.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter, hanging up.

“You just had to jinx it, didn’t you?” Rose tells Carrie.

“Sorry,” says Carrie, looking sheepish and apologetic.

“Let’s just get this over and done with,” I say, and I pull the car out and head for Thames House.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’m with Stark in his office, waiting for Rose, Oscar, Carrie and Jenny to arrive. Stark is a right mood today. He just saw the news conference about the Prime Minister and how he was saved by a group of agents who call themselves WIN – the World Intelligence Network. Stark wants to know who they really are and how they knew about the PM being kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the door. I go over to the door and open it. I give a sympathetic smile to Jenny and the others as they enter the room, and I close the door.

“So… would anyone like to explain to me what just happened today?” Stark demands as we stand across him in his office.

“I think it’s pretty obvious, really,” says Oscar. “Someone kidnapped the Prime Minister and we were given the mission on saving him and capturing the criminals.”

“But when we arrived at the location, these people who call themselves ‘WIN’ did the job that we were supposed to do,” Rose adds.

“And then to rub salt in our wounds, they call a news conference to tell the whole country just how super-effective they are,” Carrie finishes.

“Mm-hm,” Stark nods, his lips tight. “So who are these WIN people, huh? What do they do?”

“They’re the World Intelligence Network who is engaged in competition with us,” Jenny explains. “I mean duh! Didn’t you watch the conference?”

Stark is about to blow his top, but I intervene. “I think what Chief Stark really wants to know is if we can trust them. They could be working with SKUL for all we know.”

“They seem legit enough.”

We turn to the door to find Zeke standing at the doorway.

“They have an official website that provides news and information, publications, the offices of WIN, and careers,” he tells us. “They even have a Facebook page and a Twitter account.”

“But can we trust them?” I ask.

“No way!” says Jenny, crossing her arms. “They look like stuck-up, wannabe snobs who enjoy sweeping in and grabbing the credit before anybody else can.”

Everyone in the room stares at Jenny.

“What?” she asks puzzled.

“Stuck-up, wannabe snobs who enjoy sweeping in and grabbing the credit before anybody else can?” Stark repeats. “Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?”

Jenny professes a scoff. “Er, no.”

Rose, Carrie, Oscar and I exchange glances.

“Hey! When Jen was the Cat, she didn’t call a BBC news crew every time she captured a criminal, did she?” says Zeke.

Then it comes to her. “Hey, wait a minute! Are you saying that _I’m_ a stuck-up, wannabe snob?” Jenny demands.

“Well, if the shoe fits…” says Stark.

“Oh, this shoe is gonna fit all right – right up your arse!”

She’s about to pounce on Stark, but I step in the way.

“No, Jen,” I say, giving her a stern look – a look I always use whenever she and Stark lock horns. After a couple of seconds, Jenny backs down, crossing her arms in a huff as she glares at Stark.

“Anyway,” she says, “what WIN did was a total fluke. An unlikely chance occurrence. A surprising piece of luck. It’s not like it’s gonna happen again.”

“Jenny’s right,” agreed Oscar. “Besides, they’re called the World Intelligence Network – meaning that their agents will be doing missions all over the world.”

“I agree with Jen and Oscar,” says Carrie. “I don’t think we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“See? WIN go about their business and we go about ours. Everybody’s happy.”

“I just hope you’re right, agents,” says Stark sternly. “For your sake and for everybody else’s in MI9. That’s all for today – you are dismissed.”

We all leave the office, leaving Stark to do his paperwork or whatever it is he has to do.

“Well, I’ll see you guys later,” says Zeke. He winks at Rose which causes her to blush. “See you later Rose.”

“Bye, Zeke,” she says, giving him a little wave.

Zeke walks off down the corridor while the rest of us go down the opposite route.

“Has Stark ever considered applying for WIN?” says Jenny. “Because they’re looking for smug, self-satisfying dicks like him.”

“Now, now, Jen, don’t be mean,” I say firmly.

“What, it’s true! I mean did you see that Frances York woman? Looking all high and mighty and thinking that she is superior to those of other people, i.e. us. And that Benny Braunstein guy – argh! I have never met anyone as conceited as that guy!”

“That Opal girl was real immature,” says Oscar. “Sticking her tongue at us like that like a five-year-old. Shows real maturity, that one.”

“But it’s the way that Frances belittled us in front of the media – that’s what really getting my goat,” says Carrie. “Looking her nose down at us like we’re dirt.”

“My question about WIN is how they knew about the Prime Minister’s kidnap,” says Rose. “And where he was.”

“Maybe they’re like Big Brother – they’re watching our every move.”

“Or maybe they’re like News International and they hacked someone’s phone,” says Jenny.

“Who knows?” I say. “But like Jenny said, what they did today was a fluke and it probably won’t happen again. The chances of that happening again are about one in 285,000.”

“I hope you’re right. Because the last thing I want those irritatingly arrogant people to do is try and put MI9 out of business.”

We murmur in agreement as we exit the building. Then we pile into the car and drive back to St Hope’s.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The next day, news about WIN’s debut spread around the school like wildfire. Everybody was gushing over about how ‘mega awesome’ they are. Apparently, WIN is so ‘mega awesome’ that I can’t even get anyone to concentrate on today’s Art lesson – though the lesson is to paint still-life.

I like _animated_ life a lot more, but I’m only doing what the timetable is telling me to do, and I have to do my best to make it interesting for the kids. I show them copies of these weirdly lovely seventeenth-century Spanish paintings of cabbages on string, and then I dangle a whole load of real cabbages in the air for them to copy. Scoop has a little go at flicking one cabbage into another to see if they’d go _dong dong dong_ backwards and forwards like those smart executive toys, but they just make a dull _thwack_ and get their strings all tangled. I say that if they don’t settle down sharpish I’ll lop off their heads and string them up instead.

So they settle, sort of, though Davina keeps moaning that the smell of cabbages is making her feel sick. I have a wander round the room to see how everyone their paintings are progressing. After admiring Avril’s efforts I notice a group of girls crowding around Davina, looking duly appreciative. Davina’s not one to invent her own painting – she’d rather just copy an idea and then write her name at the bottom of the paper. I head over to her and the group of girls to see what the commotion is about… and I am far from impressed when I see what Davina has painted – it’s only that arrogantly and obnoxiously smug douche from WIN, Benny Braunstein.

“Davina!” I exclaim. “You’re supposed to be painting cabbages, not some amateur wannabe spy.”

“I tried at first, Jenny, I really did but I lost heart,” she says. “Besides, painting Benny from WIN is far better than smelly cabbages – he’s just so yummy.”

The girls around Davina murmur in agreement.

“He and the rest of the WIN agents are all the rage of the Internet message boards. There’s even a fan site dedicated to them called the WINners Fan Club. They have photos and information on the agents of WIN. I’m already a member – here’s my membership card.”

The girls ooh and aah over Davina’s membership card, while I stare at them and sigh. Heavily.

“Davina…” I groan, rubbing my forehead, “I don’t like still-life paintings as much as you do, but when I give you an assignment I expect you to do it and follow it through. Now turn your paper over and look a little harder at your cabbages. And if you even think about doing another painting of a WIN agent, you’re gonna stay behind after school and do a sketch of the entire Art classroom. Capisce?”

 Davina quickly turns over her paper and starts sketching the cabbages like mad.

“And the rest of you, back to your seats,” I tell the girls hovering around Davina. “And if I hear another word about the agents of WIN, you’re gonna stay behind after school and sketch the Art classroom. You got that?”

“Yes, Jenny,” the girls say, hurriedly going back to their seats, and painting the cabbages for the last ten minutes of the lesson.

When the bell does go, everyone piles out of the classroom, with the exception of Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

“Can you believe that?” I say to them. “WIN has only been around for nearly twenty-four hours and already they’ve got a fan club. The world has gone mad.”

“Not the world – just Davina,” says Oscar, and I giggle.

Just then, my watch communicator starts to vibrate and the tops of the teams’ pencil communicators are flashing.

“What’s up, Frank?” I answer.

“I’ve just received word that someone has stolen the Crown Jewels,” he says.

“When did this happen?” Rose asks.

“Less than ten minutes ago. The robbers used sleeping gas to knock everyone out and helped themselves to the Jewels. Likely, one of the jewels in one of the crowns is fitted with a tracking device. I’m sending the coordinates to your Spy-Pods and watch communicator right now.”

“Thanks, Frank,” I say, and then I hang up. A flashing red dot appears on the screen of my watch communicator.

“Come one, spies, let’s go stop the criminals – MI9-style,” says Carrie.

I smile and follow the team out of the school. We change into our spy suits and head for the location of the robbers and the Crown Jewels.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at our destination nearly an hour later. It’s an industrial warehouse in Greenwich where we find a big crowd people around the entrance of the warehouse – the media. They’re all trying to peer inside.

“You’re kidding me, right?” says Rose, climbing out of the car.

“M-maybe it’s not WIN,” says Carrie. “Maybe someone else found the robbers and they’ve called the police.”

“And the media?” says Oscar.

I don’t say anything. Instead I move towards the crowd, pushing and weaving my way through. When I get to the front, there I see Benny and the rest of the WIN agents standing with the robbers who they have placed handcuffs on. Frances is there as well – soaking up the limelight while holding the bag containing the Crown Jewels.

“I can’t believe WIN captured the criminals before we could – again,” says Oscar.

“So much for the one in 285,000 chance of it happening again,” Rose mutters.

“And how did they find out about the robbery so quickly?” Carrie whispers.

“Once again, my WIN agents have been proven effective to stop these unlawful scoundrels from making off with the Crown Jewels,” says Frances. “I’m sure that Her Majesty, the Queen, will be happy to find them back in the Tower of London where they belong.” Frances spots the team and me and gives us a very smug smile. “Bad luck, MI9. It seems that we beat you to the punch once again. But don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll get your criminals next time.”

I ball my hands into fists as Frances and the WIN agents take the criminals to their van. The paparazzi are taking pictures of the agents as they do it.

“Grr,” I snarl, watching the van drive away.

“Come on, Jenny. Let’s go back to St Hope’s,” says Carrie. “I don’t think we’re needed here anymore.”

I head back to the car with Carrie, Oscar and Rose and head back to school, where I remained in a really bad mood for the rest of the day.

And my mood doesn’t lighten up during the next two weeks. Every time we arrive at the location of a criminal, WIN continually manages to capture them before we can. This brings positive publicity to WIN while making MI9 appear ineffective. And it’s not just the UK that WIN has this good image – it’s all around the world. They’ve stopped terrorists; attempted assassinations, kidnapping, smuggling rings and any world domination plans before any MI9 agent have a chance to do it. And it’s very irritating. Now I know how MI9 felt when I stopped criminals before they could during my time as the Cat.

“Two weeks!” I cry as I walk to school with Rose and Carrie on Friday. “Two weeks since we’ve had a mission without those bloody vultures who call themselves WIN interfering.”

“Annoying as it is, there is a bright side to it,” says Carrie.

“And what could that be?” Rose asks.

“Now we have time to do the things that we wanted to do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I say. “There has been a ton of things I wanted to do – only for WIN to do them before I can!”

Rose and Carrie chuckle at my comment.

“OK, I’ve got to admit that having this time off spying is fun, but it can also be boring at the same time,” I say. “I mean I enjoy shopping as much as the next girl, but it can be dull just going around the same shops over and over again and seeing the same clothes that you saw the first time you went in there.” I look at my watch communicator and sigh. “I miss my communicator vibrating to signify that I have a mission.”

“I miss analysing data samples,” says Rose. “And I miss using the gadgets we need to stop the bad guys.”

“I miss using my triple flip sandwich kick on the bad guys,” says Carrie.

“But most of all… I miss my spy suit!” I moan.

“Me too,” the girls say.

We spot Oscar at the gates. When we meet up with him, we go across the playground and enter the school. But nothing can prepare us for what came next. After we walk through the doors and enter the foyer, we see a large banner, and proclaimed in large black letters: ‘WIN APPRECIATION DAY’.

“Someone please tell me that I’m dreaming,” I say, staring at the banner in disbelief.

“This is more like a nightmare,” says Oscar.

“Or a horror film,” says Carrie, looking at two students wearing WIN’s spy suits.

“Oh, Miss Brownstone, there you are,” says a voice. I turn to see Mr. Flatley coming towards me.

“Mr. F, what is going on?” I ask.

“It’s WIN Appreciation Day,” he says. “To celebrate the agency’s victories over the last few weeks, I’ve decided to hold a special day to them.”

“You have got to be joking,” Rose says quietly.

“The festival also comes complete with promotional merchandise, such as pens, bags, T-shirts, keyrings, mugs and badges.” Mr Flatley hands me a badge and walks off.

I look at the badge. On it, it says ‘You are a WINner’.

“Jesus fucking wept,” I say. I find the nearest bin and toss the badge in it.

The day draws on slowly. No matter where I turned, someone is either talking about the agents of WIN or they wearing their merchandise. Either way, there’s nowhere for me to hide.

By the time school has finished for the day, I am nearly at the end of my tether.

“I swear to God if someone mentions WIN again, I will punch them!” I say.

“I’m just glad that today is over,” says Oscar.

“Not to mention that it’s Friday,” says Carrie. “So we don’t have to hear about WI… I mean those agents for the whole weekend.”

“Unless you’re watching the news,” says Rose. “Or listening to the radio or if you’re on the Internet…”

“OK, Rose, I get it.”

I pack up the rest of my stuff and leave the classroom when suddenly; I hear a noise I haven’t heard in two weeks – my watch communicator vibrating. The team take out their pencil communicators and stare at the blinking red lights flashing on the rubber.

“Could it be…?” says Carrie.

“It has to be,” says Rose.

“I think it is,” says Oscar.

“Come on, team, let’s go save the world!” I say, heading down the corridor to the storage cupboard. We pile in the small room and after Rose pulls the lever, the lift takes us down to HQ.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I anxiously pace around HQ, nibbling my thumbnail waiting for Jenny and the team to arrive. I’ve just received some news from MI9 that’s gonna devastate them.

_SWOOSH!_

I whirl around. Jenny and the three young spies come running into HQ, their eyes wide with excitement.

“So, Frank, what mission have you got for us today?” Oscar asks.

“Is it a gentleman jewel thief?” Carrie quizzes.

“A kidnapping of a famous person or a head of state?” Rose enquires.

“Or are we protecting someone from an attempted assassination?” Jenny questions.

“Actually, team… it’s none of the above,” I say.

Their expressions changes from excitement to confusion.

“I, er, I don’t get it,” Carrie says. “We have no missions?”

“No,” I shake my head.

“So why did you call us down here?” Rose asks.

“Erm… well…” I hesitate.

“Frank, what’s going on?” Oscar asks.

I let out a sigh. Here goes…

“Team, I have some news – and I’m afraid they’re not good,” I say. I take a deep breath. “We’re being shut down.”

“What?!” Rose exclaims. “MI9 is shutting down the MI High project?”

“It’s Stark, isn’t it?” says Jenny. “He’s had in for us since day one. I’m gonna kill him!”

“It’s not just the MI High project that’s shutting down,” I tell them. I take another deep breath. “The whole of MI9 is being shut down.”

“Wha…? The whole of MI9… is being shut down?” Jenny repeats. “The _whole_ of MI9? As in the whole organization?”

I nod.

“But… but why?” Carrie asks.

“Since WIN came along, they have been proven to be more well-organized and competent than us, so… they will be replacing MI9.”

“So… so we’re gonna go back to being normal schoolkids?” Rose asks.

“Yes,” I say, nodding sadly. “I’m afraid so.”

“But that’s not fair!” Oscar exclaims. “WIN has been stopping crime before we even arrive. They don’t give us a chance. Even when Jenny was the Cat, she left some cases for us to solve!”

“I’m sorry, Oscar. But there’s nothing me or Stark or the Head can do. We have been given orders to clear out our stuff and leave before midnight tonight.”

No-one says anything. Oscar stares hard at the ground, a tearful Rose lets Carrie weep on her shoulder and Jenny stands silent, not knowing what to do.

“I’m really sorry, team,” I say quietly.

Jenny turns and storms out of HQ.

“Jenny!” I call to her but the lift doors have already closed and it takes her up to the surface. I collapse into my chair with a heavy sigh.

Rose pulls away from Carrie and sniffs. “We, er… I suppose we better get started with the packing up,” she says.

“Yeah, erm… yeah, let’s get started,” I say, getting up again.

I head over to the cupboard and pull out some empty plastic and cardboard boxes and the team and I begin to pack.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

After the lift takes me to the top, I leave the storage cupboard, and I run down the corridor and out to the playground. There are some people still around so I go and find a quiet spot. Once I found it, I burst into tears.

I can’t believe this is happening.

MI9 is being shut down and is gonna be replaced by those bastards at WIN. It’s their entire fault that they’ve forced MI9 to shut down. They keep solving cases and stopping the criminals before we can, making us look incompetent. Like Oscar said, even when I was the Cat, I gave MI9 some credit.

No. No, there’s something funny going on at WIN. It’s far too much of a coincidence for them to just magically appear at the locations of where the criminals are and then catch them. I mean, how do they do it? What gadgets do they use? And how do they know where the criminal will be way before MI9?

“I think it’s time for me to pay the World Intelligence Network a little visit,” I say to myself.

I wipe the tears from my face and come out of my hiding place. My phone rings. I take it out of my pocket to see Frank’s name flashing on the screen – but I don’t take the call. After I put my phone away, I use my watch communicator to change into my spy suit and use the Rocket Go-Go Boots to fly myself over to WIN HQ.


	36. Saving the World MI9-Style

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I arrive at WIN HQ six minutes later. It’s a large, grey office block at Gower Street, adjacent to the Euston Road. I land on the roof of the building. I head to the door and tug on the handle. It won’t move. I rattle the handle and pull the door, but I still can’t open it.

“Ohh,” I frown. “How am I supposed to get in now?”

I look around the roof and spot a large air handling unit close by.

“Time to bring out my inner John McClane,” I say to myself.

I go over to the air handling unit, and I bring out the Laser Lipstick and use it to cut around the metal infill panels of the vent. Seconds later, I turn off the laser and remove the panel and climb into the vent.

I crawl through the air vent as quietly as I can, negotiating round and round every bend and corner. I keep crawling until I hear the sound of voices – they’re quite close. I follow the voices until I reach the end of the vent. I take a peek through the grate – it looks like a command centre. The room is filled with multiple electronic displays and control panels, and a large wall-sized display area visible from all locations within the space.

As I watch the staff in the command centre work at their computers, the doors slide open and entering the room is Frances, along with her cronies Benny, Carter, Opal and Ross, and some other people that look somewhat familiar. I fix my eyes on the group of people and frown – I feel like I’ve met them before. But where…?

I let out a gasp. “No way!” I murmur. “It’s the Prime Minister’s kidnappers and the Crown Jewel thieves. They should be in prison. What the hell are they doing with Frances?”

“Excellent work, agents,” says Frances. “Because of your ‘exceptional ability’ to catch international criminals before MI9, you have managed to build up WIN’s public image and discredit MI9’s, forcing them to close down. Just as I had anticipated. And I would like to thank my loyal employees for your involvement in the criminal incidents that I set up in order to make WIN look good.”

So that’s her game! Frances organized fake crimes in order to build up positive publicity for WIN and disgrace MI9. But why would she do this? What has she got against MI9? I better call Zeke and get him to do some digging on her. But first, I better make myself scarce.

I start to back away from the grate and expertly turning myself around, I crawl back through the vent in the direction to which I came. I can’t wait to tell Frank and the others about this. WIN is a fake spy agency, and the ‘international criminals’ that WIN have been capturing are in fact employees of WIN and the criminal incidents have been set up by Frances in order to build up WIN’s credibility and damage MI9’s reputation.

I’m halfway through the vent in the direction to which I came when I hear a creaking sound. I stop to listen.

Silence.

I move on my hands and knees for another few steps – then stop when I hear the creaking sound. It’s only when I start crawling again that I see some of the screws in the vent are starting to come loose. I instantly realize that the creaking noise is coming from the weight that I’m putting on the vents – and it’s not gonna hold me for much longer! I start to drag myself through the vents as quickly as I can when suddenly, the vent gives way.

“Waaaa!” I scream as I fall through the ceiling and land in the corridor. “Urggghhh…” I moan. I’m covered in debris and dust, and the whole of my left side hurts because that’s what I used to cushion my fall. “Ngh,” I groan, sitting up. “Could this day get any worse?”

I hear a cocking sound. I look up to find myself surrounded by security men, their guns pointing at me.

“Aw, crap,” I murmur.

Two of the guards pull me to my feet and drag me through the corridors to the command centre.

“Ma’am, look who we found crawling through the vents,” says one of the men.

Frances turns around and as soon as she sees me, a smile spreads around her mouth.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” she says, walking up to me. “An MI9 spy. Sorry, that should be an _ex_ -MI9 spy.”

“Go to hell, Frances!” I say. “I know that your ‘agency’ is as fake as Katie Price’s tits! You set up criminal incidents and used your employees to act as villains and got your agents to catch them before MI9 just so you can build up WIN’s ‘good’ image while also making MI9 appear ineffective. Why would you do that?”

“It’s simple, really. Twenty years ago I applied at MI9 – only to be rejected by them. Now I want to seek revenge.”

“So you decided to start WIN to make it so effective and successful than MI9 that you forced them to shut down.”

“Oh, it’s not just MI9 that I want to get revenge on. I want to get revenge on every major spy agency in the world that had rejected my application!”

Wow, someone’s got issues.

“And I’m gonna make sure that WIN is the best and only spy agency in the world,” Frances declares.

“And how are you gonna do that?” I ask.

“With this.” Frances pulls out a disc from her pocket. “This control disc holds the access codes to the missiles that are hidden under the North Sea. In exactly one hour, the missiles will be launched and they will strike at every spy agency around the world.”

My eyes widen in shock. Is this woman serious?

“Everyone around the world will start blaming each other for the attack, while WIN’s involvement will be concealed and erased,” says Frances.

“But by doing that you’ll start World War Three!” I tell her.

“Well, the agencies should have thought about that before they rejected me! And there’s nothing you or any of your ex-MI9 friends can do about it. Oh, by the way…” Frances takes off my belt. “I don’t think you’ll need this. Take her to the cells.”

The guards salute Frances and taking me by the arms again, they drag me out of the command centre and through the corridors until we stop outside a door. One of the guards unlocks the door and opens it, while the other shoves me in the room and slams the door shut, locking it.

I go up to the door and start pounding on it. “Hey! Let me out!” I call. “Let me out of here!”

But I can see that no-one is coming to let me out. I run my hands through my hair and pace around the room. What am I gonna do? There’s no way out for me because that evil old witch has my utility belt and I can’t call anyone from my… watch communicator.

That’s it! My watch communicator! The one thing that Frances didn’t take away from me. She thinks that this is just a regular watch. I open the lid of the watch communicator to call Zeke – but I can’t get a signal in here.

“Argh!” I groan – but then I remember that I can send a distress signal to Zeke if I can’t reach him via communication.

I close the watch communicator and use the digital watch face to activate the signal. The face of the watch flashes red and gives off a beeping sound.

I just hope that Zeke can answer the call.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been half an hour since we started packing up HQ. Due to our poor performance to WIN’s excellent performance, MI9 is being forced to shut down and is going to be replaced by WIN. Everyone has taken the news badly, especially Jenny. I haven’t heard from her. I’ve left voicemails and texts, but there’s being no response. I decide to try again. I dial her number, and for the fourth time, it goes straight to voicemail.

“ _Hi, I’m not in right now. But if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you_ ,” says Jenny’s voicemail message.

_BEEP!_

“Hi Jenny, it’s me – again,” I say. “Listen, I know you’re still upset about MI9 shutting down, but will you call me back? I’m worried that you’re gonna do something that’s gonna get in you into trouble. Anyway, call me when you can.”

After I hang up, I help the team pack the rest of the stuff in the lab.

“Frank? What’s going to happen to me?” Oscar asks.

“Hm?” I look to him. “What do you mean?”

“My foster parent happens to be an MI9 agent, but since he now doesn’t work for MI9 anymore… what’s gonna happen to me?”

“Oh.” I’ve forgotten that the news will affect Oscar too. “You’ll probably be placed in a regular foster home – preferably one near St Hope’s. But if you want, I could ask Agent Re–, er, Percy if he can foster you.”

“I would very much like that. Thanks, Frank.”

I smile in response and continue packing.

“Still no word from Jenny?” Oscar asks.

“Er, no, no word yet,” I say as I pack. “I’m sure that when she’s ready, she’ll call back.”

Oscar and I are nearly finished with the lab when I hear Carrie give a loud squeal.

“She’s finally flipped,” says Oscar, and I smile.

Rose comes rushing over. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!” Carrie says in a high-pitched, excited tone, coming over to us. “Look what I just found!”

Carrie shows us what she’s found. It’s a little black velvet box. When she opens it, my heart is hammering like crazy when I see what’s inside – a gold diamond ring. Oh no. Carrie’s found my engagement ring. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I sat down after Jenny stormed out of HQ.

“Oh, my God,” says Rose. “It’s an engagement ring – nine carat to be exact. But who could’ve…?”

It doesn’t take the team long to find out who bought the ring. Their eyes turn to me, and I know that I’m blushing like a fool.

“Frank…” Oscar says slowly, “did you buy the ring?”

My head nods automatically.

“Oh… my… God,” says Rose. “Frank’s gonna propose to Jenny.”

“Oooh!” Carrie squeals with delight. “This is so exciting! And romantic. So how are you going to do it? Are you gonna do it over a romantic dinner? Maybe the ring will be hidden in the food or a glass of champagne. Or maybe you’re going to hire a skywriter to spell out your proposal for everyone around to see.” Carrie gasps. “Or maybe you’re going to write her a love note with the proposal at the end of it – that’ll be dead romantic.”

“Actually… I’m not sure if I am going to propose to her,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

Carrie’s face immediately falls. “What?”

“What? Why?” Oscar asks.

“It’s too soon! Jenny and I only got back together a few months ago. And with everything that’s happening right now, I don’t think now is the time to ask her to marry me. Besides, I’m sure that if did I present her with the ring, she may go off on me or worse… I’m scared that she might say no.”

No-one says nothing for a few moments. Then Rose comes up to me.

“Frank…” she starts – then she flicks me on the forehead.

“Ow!” I cry, holding my forehead. It doesn’t hurt, it just stings.

“You can be completely dense sometimes,” Rose tells me. “Of course Jenny’s gonna say yes! She’s nuts about you – she loves you. And I take it you love her too?”

“Of course I do! She means more to me than any other girl in the world.”

“Well, there you go.”

“It’s just – well…” I hesitate.

“What’s wrong?” Carrie asks.

I sigh. “What if she’s not ready to settle down? What if she doesn’t what to get married – or have children?”

“Frank, I’m pretty sure she’s ready to do all that stuff with you – we’ve all seen how Jenny is with you,” says Rose. “We’ve seen the way she treats you with love and respect in the way you do things and how you talk to her, and vice versa. She certainly treats you like a husband: she loves you, she listens to you, she cares for you, she even places a meal for you whenever you’re busy with an experiment and you haven’t eaten in ages.”

The corners of my mouth draw up a slight smile.

“We’ve also seen how she is with everyone here at St Hope’s,” Rose continues. “She’s self-confident and responsible – not to mention the most respected and obeyed teacher in the school. And for that, she’s loved by everyone. If you don’t see that she’s the perfect person for you to settle down with, then there’s something wrong with you.”

“You really think that she’s perfect for me?” I ask eagerly.

Oscar and Carrie stare at me.

Rose flicks me on the forehead again. “You’ve been going out with her for over six months, haven’t you? Duh! Of course she’s perfect you. And you are perfect for her too.”

“She needs you as much as you need her,” Carrie joins in.

“You two are great together,” Oscar adds. “You and Jenny are meant to be together.”

After rubbing my forehead, my eyes move from Oscar to Rose to Carrie to the ring box. I take the box and stare at the ring inside. I can picture the moment where I get down on one knee and ask Jenny for her hand in marriage, and I’m sure that she’ll say yes. I can also picture us having children together, settling down and growing old together…

I think it’s time to make this dream a reality.

“OK, then,” I say after a long silence. “I’m gonna do it – I’m gonna propose to Jenny.”

Carrie squeals in excitement and rushes over to hug me.

“Oh Frank, this is so amazing!” she says.

“But you’ve got to promise not to say a word to Jen,” I say. “Not even a hint.”

“Don’t worry, our lips are sealed.”

As we pull away from the hug, my phone rings – and the teams’ communicators start to beep.

“Jenny?” I answer.

“Sorry Frank, it’s Zeke,” he says. “But I have received a distress call from Jenny. The signal’s faint but it’s her. I think she may need help.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but… she’s at the headquarters of WIN.”

“I had a feeling she might do that.”

“Maybe she’s found out something about WIN and got caught,” says Rose.

“Then we’ve got to help her. Do you still have the gadgets that I gave to you?”

Oscar and Carrie hold up the Laser Lipstick and Instant Freeze Cologne.

“Then let’s get going,” I say.

“I’ll meet you guys there,” says Zeke, and hangs up.

We do the same, and then we enter the lift that takes us to the top. After we exit the school, we hop into my car and head down to WIN HQ.

xxoOoxx

Within twelve minutes we arrive at the headquarters of WIN. Zeke is already there – along with two other girls. One of them is the Cat Android 1000 and the other is of Asian descent, wearing a red dress featuring traditional Chinese motifs and a mandarin collar.

“Hey, guys,” says Zeke. “I thought I should bring some reinforcement to help us out. You already know the Cat Android 1000…” He nods to the android. “And this is my other android, Ling.” He motion to the other android. “My beautiful, kung fu fighting warrior girl, and one of the first androids I built.”

“Oh yeah, Jen told us about Ling when she met you for the first time,” says Carrie.

“Speaking of Jen, shouldn’t we be saving her?” I say.

“My thoughts exactly,” says Zeke. “Let’s roll.”

We all enter inside the grey building and into the huge lobby.

“We better split up to cover more ground,” says Oscar.

“Good idea,” I say. “You, Rose, Carrie and the CA1000 find out what WIN is up to, while me, Zeke and Ling look for Jen.”

Oscar, Rose, Carrie and CA1000 take the lift while Zeke, Ling and I take the stairs.

“She’s very close,” says Zeke as we approach the fourth floor. “But we have to be quick, the signal is fainting fast.”

Ling and I follow Zeke through the long corridor. Just then, five guards who have just come from around the corner of the corridor in the opposite side spot us.

“Intruders!” one of them cries. “Get them!”

The men start to charge towards us.

“Ling, show these punks what you’re made of!” orders Zeke.

Ling nods and runs quickly at the guards. The guards try to attack her, but she keeps dodging them, moving swiftly as she does so, confusing the guards.

“It-it’s no good…” pants one of the guards. “She’s too quick for us…”

“Errgh…! I have had enough!” says another guard. “Catch her!”

The guards move in towards Ling. But I can see that she has a smirk on her face and with agile and swift movements, she launches into an attack against the guards and manages to defeats them without delay.

“Unnh…” the guards moan, their bodies twitching.

“You are all too weak. Please try again later,” Ling says in a tone of gloating satisfaction.

“Wow,” I say, impressed. “That was incredible.”

“I know, right?” crows Zeke. He gives Ling a thumbs-up. “Nice work, Ling.”

Ling gives a thumbs-up in return.

“Right, that’s them sorted. Now let’s find Jen,” says Zeke, and with that we carry on down the corridor.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It’s been nearly an hour and a half since I infiltrated the headquarters of WIN, got captured and then got slung in here. I look down at my watch communicator – less than five minutes to go before Frances launches her missile attack. I just hope that Zeke received my distress call…

There’s pounding on the door.

“Jenny! Jen, are you in there?”

It’s Zeke!

“Zeke! Is that you?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m here – along with Frank and Ling,” he says.

“Oh, thank God you received the signal. Now get me out of here!”

“Will do. Stand back, Jen!”

I stand aside and take cover as the door gets broken into. When I look up, I see that the door is off its hinges and has left splinters on the frame. I slowly approach the door and see Ling lowering her leg after breaking the door down.

“Wow, Ling, you’re getting more powerful every time I see you,” I say, coming out of my cell. Then I see Zeke and Frank. “Oh, hey, guys.”

“Jen, you’re OK!” says Frank, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, hugging back. “Now come on. We’ve got to stop Frances from starting World War Three. I’ll explain on the way.”

We take off, running down the corridor at full speed towards the command centre. On the way, I explain to Frank and Zeke about Frances setting up WIN as part of her plan to exact revenge against MI9 for not choosing her as a spy in her younger days.

“…and now she’s planning on launching a missile attack on every spy agency around the world because they rejected her application as well,” I finish telling them.

“Wow – talk about issues!” says Zeke.

“I know, right?”

We are nearly halfway to the command centre when something comes crashing through the wall, causing us to skid to a halt. Through the dust and debris, we see that it’s a group of guards, groaning in pain as their bodies twitching and trembling.

“Unh…” one of them wheezes.

“Huh?” Zeke, Frank and I peer through the five office walls that the guards were thrown through and immediately spot the team and the Cat Android 1000.

“Hey there!” Carrie calls, waving at us. Then she, Oscar, Rose and the CA1000 catch up to us through the holes in the walls. “How awesome is CA1000? She was kicking the guards’ butts left, right and centre – as well as throwing them through walls.”

“Compliments can come later,” I tell Carrie. “Right now, we have a villain to stop.”

We set off again to the command centre with Frank and Zeke explaining to the others what’s happening. We very nearly approach the command centre when a group of guards – and employees of WIN who posed as villains – block our way.

“Oh no! We’ll get past the guards and –” Rose doesn’t finish her sentence as Ling and the Cat Android quickly rush towards the guards and WIN employees, and with athleticism and skill, they swiftly defeat them. “Oh, right… well… that’s them taken care of.”

“Now let’s take care of Frances,” says Oscar.

Zeke tells Ling and CA1000 is stand guard and attack any WIN employees who tries to come inside. Then the team, Frank, Zeke and I head into the command centre.

“Stop right there, Frances!” I tell her. “Step away from the computer and I promise that we’ll go easy on you.”

“I don’t think so, spy!” she exclaims. “You’ll never be able to get past my agents to stop me in time. Agents of WIN, attack!”

“Get back!” I tell Frank and Zeke as the WIN agents advance towards us. “Hyaa!” I yell as I jump up high, then strike Benny with a kick. “I don’t have time for wannabe spies like you!”

“Nnngh! You bitch!” Benny spits. “I’ll show you…!”

He rushes towards me, ready to strike me, but I grab his wrist and I karate chop the side of his neck. Then, I strike him with a fierce kick to the chest, causing him to stumble and fall.

“I’m sorry, Benny, what were you gonna show me?” I say with a smug look on my face.

“Ungh! Why, you…!” He charges to me again ready to attack, but I grab him and toss him to the pile of WIN agents that have been defeated by Rose, Carrie and Oscar.

“Uuuh…” the WIN agents groan.

“So much for them being better than us,” says Oscar.

“Now let’s stop Frances,” says Carrie.

“You’re too late, spies!” Frances cries. “The countdown has already begun.”

“Twenty seconds to missile launch,” the tannoy announces. “Nineteen, eighteen…”

“And as soon as I press the button, the dawn of a new era will begin for WIN!” Frances cackles with laughter.

“Not if I have anything to do with it!” I say. “Carrie, give me your Laser Lipstick.”

Carrie hands me the lipstick.

“Oscar, throw the Instant Freeze Cologne,” I tell him.

Oscar tosses the cologne bottle. I point the Laser Lipstick at the bottle and fire a beam from the lipstick, hitting the bottle, causing it to smash and have the contents inside spill and freeze over the computers, the control panels… and Frances, turning her into an ice sculpture.

“Yes!” I cheer triumphantly.

“Nice shot!” says Carrie, giving me a high five.

“Nice going, Jen!” says Frank, coming up to me. “You’ve stopped Frances.”

“She may have stopped Frances,” says Rose, “but she didn’t stop the countdown!”

“Ten seconds to missile launch,” says the tannoy. “Nine, eight…”

“It’s still going!” Oscar exclaims.

“Crap, she must have set it on auto-launch,” I say.

“What do we do now?” Carrie asks.

There’s nothing we can do. We stand helplessly, gazing at the large computer monitor as it counts down from five… four… three… two… one…

“Missile launch aborted,” the tannoy announces. “Missile launch aborted.”

“Huh?” The team, Frank and I exchange confused glances. What the heck just happened?

“Ahem!”

My question is soon answered when everyone looks up to see Zeke standing by one of the computers.

“Oh, I, er, I used my palmtop computer to hack into WIN’s main computer and stopped the missiles from launching,” he says. “Please, don’t thank me all at once.”

“Oh, well done, you knucklehead,” I say, going over to him and ruffling his dark curls.

“Yes, good work, Zeke,” says Frank. “You’ve pretty much just saved the world from mass destruction.”

“Yeah – MI9-style,” Carrie adds with a smile on her face, and I smile back.

I do believe we are back on track.

**(Frank’s POV)**

Nearly an hour later, a team of MI9 agents arrive at WIN HQ to take away the employees, the agents and (the still frozen solid) Frances. The Head is here – along with Stark – and Jenny is explaining to her about the WIN organization being nothing more than a fraud.

“Well done, agents!” says the Head. “Not only did you save MI9’s reputation, but you also saved the world from being destroyed. And for that, we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” the team chorus.

“Not bad for an ‘adequate’ mission, eh, Stark?” says Jenny, raising one eyebrow at him.

Stark rolls his eyes in response, but when the Head turns to him with a frown on her face, Stark stretches his lips into a sad little smirk. “Yes, excellent work, agents,” he says through clenched teeth. “Well done.”

“And to reward you for reopening MI9 again, I’m going to give you two weeks leave off missions!” the Head says.

I would have thought that Jenny and the team would be excited by the news, but they look… rather unimpressed.

“Is something wrong?” the Head asks.

“Ma’am, we appreciate the offer, but having spent two weeks without missions and seeing what damaged it could have caused, we’re gonna have to turn you down,” says Jenny.

“Sorry,” Rose, Carrie and Oscar say.

“Besides, if we did that a break, every villain and criminal in the country would think that we’re pushovers,” says Carrie.

“We can’t just let them walk all over us,” says Oscar.

“We have to be prepared for anything that they throw at us,” says Rose.

“Because that’s what being an MI9 spy is about,” says Zeke. “To fight crime and to protect the world from evildoers.”

I smile at the team. I’m so proud of them.

“Although, I would like to have next weekend off as it’s gonna be my birthday on Saturday,” says Jenny. “If that’s OK.”

“Consider it done. After all, you deserve it.” The Head and Jenny shake hands. “Once again, agents, well done and keep up the good work.” The Head enters her car and drives off, leaving Stark and the other agents to do their jobs.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys but I am hungry,” says Jenny. “All this saving the world business has brought out the appetite in me. Why don’t we swing round to a Pizza Hut for a celebratory ‘We Just Saved the World’ meal?”

“I’m game!” says Zeke.

“OK!” the team say.

“All right,” I decide.

Jenny links her arm in mine. “Then it’s settled.”

“Aww!” Carrie coos.

I turn to her. She’s trying not to cry, but her eyes are brimming – I know why she’s like this.

“Carrie? Are you OK?” Jenny asks.

“Yes, Carrie, are you OK?” I ask, giving her a stern look. It’s as if I’m telling her not to give the game away.

Rose and Oscar also turn to Carrie with steely looks on their faces.

Carrie realizes why everyone is staring at her. “Oh, erm… I-I’m just so happy that MI9 is back in business again and we don’t have to go back to our regular, boring lives,” she says, wiping away her tears.

Rose, Oscar and I wait with bated breath to see if Jen’s taken the bait.

“Hmmmm,” she says. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m glad that MI9 is back in business, too.”

We mentally let out a sigh of relief. Thank God for that.

“And I’m also glad that we don’t have to give back to our dull, mundane lives,” Jenny continues.

“That’s something worth celebrating as well,” I say.

“Great idea.” Jenny looks at her watch. “We better get over there as quickly as we can. It’s nearly six o’clock, and the place will soon be crowded.”

Jenny uses her watch communicator to change back into her civilian clothes – as do Rose, Oscar and Carrie. Zeke’s androids fly back to his house and he joins us. After we all squeeze in the car, we drive down to the West End.


	37. Operation Birthday Surprise

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’m in an industrial warehouse on the outskirts of London, playing a not-so-friendly high-stakes game of poker with Tobias Murphy. He’s an Irish lowlife criminal – along with his cronies, Paddy Kelly and Melanie O’Sullivan.

“You play a dangerous game, Missy,” says Tobias. “So I’m betting you have either the luck of a cheat… or more money than brains. Which is it?”

“You’ll never know, Tobias. Unless you’d care to raise?” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. “How about the jewel?”

The jewel I’m talking about is the Travancore Ruby – the largest ruby in the world. It weighs 21,955 grams (that’s 48 pounds, 6.43 ounces) and it is owned by the Travancore Royal Family of India. It _was_ on loan to the British Museum – that is until two nights ago, when Tobias and his gang decided to… acquire it for themselves. Now it’s up to me to get the ruby back.

“She’s bluffing,” says Paddy. “Throw it in the pot, Tobias. She can’t win again.”

“This is worth a lot of money to some people. What do you have to offer?” Tobias asks me, putting the ruby into the pile of money that’s building up.

“How about your freedom?” I say. “Holding onto that old rock’s bought you nothing but trouble, Tobias. You lose it; you also lose the heat on your tail. You win, I smuggle the three of you – and your stolen jewel – past the authorities and into America. Either way, you win.”

Tobias looks at the cards he’s holding – then he smiles. “Read ‘em and weep, Missy,” he says, throwing down two kings and three aces on the table. Then he gets up and starts to put the money and the ruby in the sack. “You’ll have to use that pretty face of yours to smuggle us past the cops, sweetheart. Because they sure as hell ain’t gonna buy that bull you call a bluff.”

“Hmmm.” I use the special ring that Zeke gave me to change the faces of the cards, hence my winning. “Who said I was bluffing?” I say, laying down a ten, a Jack, a Queen, a King and an ace on the table.

“But… Now wait a minute, what about me and the gang?” Tobias asks.

“Find yourself some other pretty face for those cops, Tobias…” I tell him, standing up and taking the bag from him. “Because if you’re relying on looks to get by, I’d say you’re busted.” As I pull the bag towards me, I accidently knock over a glass of beer that spills over the holographic cards, revealing my deceit. “Oops. That’s put a damper on things.”

“Looks like we’ve been dealt a cheat, gang,” says Tobias. “Get her!”

Paddy tries to grab me from behind, but I strike him with a back kick to the stomach, making him stumble backwards. “So you wanna play nasty now, Tobias? Fine. I got you covered!” I say, dumping the bag over his head. Then I kick him in the chest causing him to fly into the wall.

“Why don’t we settle this over a drink, Missy?!” Melanie says, smashing a bottle over my head.

“The name isn’t ‘Missy’.” I turn to her and pull off my dark brown wig. “It’s Jenny Brownstone! And offering drinks or not, that’s not the way she likes to be hit on!” I say, punching Mel hard across the face. “Now let’s… not be… sore losers!” I back flip onto the table to avoid the chain and hook that Paddy swung. “Smart thing to do would be to take the hit, or should I say hits, and walk away.”

“That not the way we play, Brownstone. We go all or nothing,” says Paddy.

“Good…” I say, going into a fighting pose. “Because I can always throw down my five of clubs.”

“That supposed to scare me?” says Tobias. “Takes a helluva lot more than that, Brownstone! A helluva –”

A black van comes crashing through the warehouse. I jump from the table and hang onto the light hanging above to avoid been hit.

“Aiiyyee!” Tobias screams as he runs. As do Paddy and Mel.

The van screeches to a halt. The door opens and out pops the MI9 agents, their guns pointing at Tobias and his gang.

“This is MI9!” one of the agents shouts. “Drop your guns and put your hands up!”

“Do it – now!” another agent barks.

Tobias, Paddy and Mel do what the agents say and drop their guns. Then they get down on their knees and put their hands on their heads. More agents jump out of the van and arrest the criminals.

“Stark!” I cry when I see him come out of the van. I let go of the overhead light and land on my feet. Then I pull the ruby out from my shirt. “Mission accomplished.”

“Barely,” he says. “Your recklessness almost cost you the ruby – as well as your life.”

“Hey, I got us the jewel, didn’t I?”

“Hm. I suppose the British Museum and the Travancore Royal Family will be… happy that you got back their most valuable gem.”

I stare at Stark. Did he just… pay me a compliment? The world has finally gone mad. Who would have thought that under that dislikeable and hostile persona that Horatio Stark is actually a nice person?

“Is there a problem?” he asks, returning to his old bossy self.

“Oh, er, nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Nothing, sir. I take it that I’m done for tonight?”

“Yes, you’re dismissed. I’ll debrief you in the morning.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.”

Stark grunts in response. I roll my eyes and exit the warehouse. I suppose it was nice while it lasted. Though I am amazed that horrible old Smug Stark can be so nice – once in a blue moon! But having a nice Stark would be just as bad as having the Stark that we’ve got now.

I can’t wait to tell Frank about this. Though throughout this week, Frank hasn’t been spending time with me. Every time I want to plan something with him, he keeps saying that he’s busy. I wonder what he’s up too.

I let out a gasp. Of course – he’s planning something for my birthday! It is in two days. That’s why he’s been so busy. He’s planning on making my birthday a very special one. Now I’m really excited. I wonder what’s he’s going to do. Whatever it is, I know that it’s going to be spectacular and it’s gonna knock me off my feet!

**(Frank’s POV)**

I arrive outside Mrs King’s house. I look down at my watch – Jenny won’t be back from her mission for at least another half an hour. That gives me at least fifteen minutes. The reason I’m here is because I want Richie’s blessing to marry his niece. Now normally – and traditionally – I would have to ask the father, but since I haven’t met Jenny’s father, her uncle is the next best thing. I’m very nervous. I’ve been practising over and over in my head what I’m going to say. But I wanna make a good impression rather than just sitting Richie down and then going blank.

Anyway, I climb out of the car and head up the path to the house and knock on the door. I straighten up my suit while I wait. If I want to make a good impression, I have to look good. I don’t want Jenny’s family to think that she’s going to marry a total sleaze, do I? After a minute or so, the door opens and rather than Richie standing at the doorway, it’s a man of average height and build with a dark complexion – similar to Jen’s, but a little darker – black hair, and the same chocolate brown eyes as Jen’s. He’s wearing jeans, with a light grey sweatshirt cardigan and a black shirt underneath.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Oh…” I stammer, surprised that it’s not Richie. “Er, my name is Frank and, er, and I was wondering if I could talk to Richie about something.”

“Frank? As in Frank London?”

I furrow my brow, wondering how this man knows my full name. “Um, yes.”

Suddenly, the man’s face beams. “I was wondering when I was going to meet you!” He takes my hand and shakes it. “It’s good to finally meet you at last.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Er, sorry, but who are you?”

The man slaps his head. “Sorry, where are my manners? My name is Robert Brownstone. I’m Jenny’s father.”

My eyes go wide. “J-Jenny’s father?” I repeat.

“Yes. I’m so happy that I get to meet you at last. Jenny and I have tried to make arrangements, but we’re both so busy given that she’s a teacher and I’m a solicitor. Anyway, look at me chatting away, you must be freezing. Come in, come in!”

I step inside and close the door behind me. Then I follow Robert up the stairs. I should have known that he’s Jenny’s father – they’re both slender and of average height, with the same brown eyes. How did I not see that?

“Hey Rich, look who I just met,” says Robert when we enter the living room.

“Oh, hi, Frank,” says Richie. “You must have been surprised to see Rob open the door instead of me. Sorry about that – there was something that I borrowed from him and I went upstairs to retrieve it.”

“It’s no problem at all,” I say.

“Anyway, what are you doing here? Jenny’s gone to a friend’s house and Hermione’s at her yoga class.”

“Actually, Richie, I wanted to talk to you. But since Jenny’s father is here, I actually want to talk to him.”

Robert and Richie exchange looks. They may already have an inkling as to what I’m about to do.

“OK,” says Richie. “Have a seat.”

I take a seat by the door, while Robert and Richie take the sofa.

“So,” says Robert, “what do you want to talk about?”

“It’s about your daughter – Jenny,” I start. “I was wondering if I… if I could…”

So much for making a first impression. I’m starting to sweat a bit. I think it’s because of me being in the same room as Jenny’s father. Or the fact that I didn’t know he would be here. Oh God, what if he says no? What if she wants Jenny to marry a rich man?

“It’s OK, Frank, just take your time,” he says softly.

I nod my head and take a deep breath. “Mr. Brownstone, you should know that I love your daughter very much. My life would be so chaotic without her. I wouldn’t be able to accomplish half the things I need to without her by my side. There aren’t enough bottles to contain the amount of love I feel for her… for my love for her continues to grow more and more each and every day she is in my life. This is why I would like to marry her.

“I understand the seriousness of the commitment and that being able to spend the rest of my life with your daughter would make me the happiest man in the world. Jenny has given me life in everything she does. Her smile warms my heart when I am feeling sad or doubting my place in this world. Her words speak volumes to me about character and how supportive she is in everything I do. Her love fills me with the motivation I need to continue to push forward on this long and winding road of life. She completes the parts of me that I struggle to perfect within myself. Every day I realize more and more that life without Jenny in it, by my side, as my wife, would be a life not lived to the fullest. She lifts me up, and I want to give her the same kind of joy for the rest of the days of our lives.

“Everyone deserves someone that can love, cherish, comfort and support them through life’s ups and downs. Marriage is a commitment to give all these things, as well as receive them from another. Life will be hard at times, but sharing the burdens will lighten the load and make the rewards attainable. And I promise you, sir, that I will make the commitment that I will always honour, respect, and cherish your daughter. Which is why, Mr. Brownstone, I would like to have your blessing to marry Jenny.”

The room goes silent after my speech. Richie is staring at Robert who in turn is staring hard at me.

Then Robert breaks into a smile. “I had a feeling you were gonna ask me that,” he says. “I saw how shocked and nervous you were when I introduced myself to you. Your speech was sincere. It was deep and strongly felt. You really do love her, don’t you?”

“She’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me,” I tell him. “She’s my soul mate, my other half. And I love her. And I know that this is a big step, and I’m not expecting an answer right this minute. If you’d like some time to think about it, I understand.”

Robert nods. “Usually, I am not steeped in tradition – especially in a tradition like this – but I do feel greatly honoured that you respected me enough to ask for my blessing, despite the fact that we are meeting for the very first time. I can see that Jenny means everything to you and from what I heard from Jenny; you mean everything to her too.” He smiles at me and sticks out his hand. “Congratulations, Frank, you have my blessing.”

Oh my… Is – Is he serious?

“Are you serious?” I say aloud.

Robert nods.

“Thank you, Mr. Brownstone,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much! I promise you that I’ll always take care of her to the best of my ability, and I will always honour and respect her.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Frank. But rather than calling me Mr. Brownstone or Sir, please call me Robert – or Rob.”

“Sorry, Robert.”

“I think this calls for some celebratory drinks!” says Richie. He gets up and heads into the kitchen.

“So, Frank, when are you planning on proposing to Jen?” Robert asks.

“I’m gonna do it on Saturday,” I say.

“On her birthday? Well, this is certainly one present that she’s going to remember forever. You’ve got everything planned?”

“There are still one or two things that need to be done.”

“You excited? Nervous?”

“I’m excited _and_ nervous, but I am a teeny weeny bit more nervous.”

“Like you were with me?”

“I was very nervous when I saw you. I’ve never met you until now, that’s why I wanted to ask Richie for his blessing because I’ve only met him on a few occasions.”

“Ah.”

“By the way, I was wondering if you and Richie could keep this to yourselves. Jenny has told me that Livi and her mother tend to gossip whenever they hear a secret.”

“That’s true. Whenever Tess or Liv hears something – whether it’s true or not – they have a tendency of passing the conversation around, despite the fact that they have been told to keep it a secret. So don’t worry about this one, Frank – Rich and I will keep shtum about this. You can count on that.”

“Thanks.”

“Here we are!” says Richie when he enters the room with a tray containing three glasses and various types of drinks. Richie pours himself a beer, while Robert and I pour orange juice as we have to drive home.

“Here’s to Frank who’s about to make an honest woman out of my daughter,” Robert smiles, raising his glass.

“Hear, hear,” says Richie, raising his glass. “And here’s to marriage and commitment.”

“Marriage and commitment,” Robert and I say, raising our glasses and the three of us take a swig at our beverages.

xxoOoxx

Half an hour later, as Robert, Richie and I enjoy another round of drinks; we hear the door open and close. I hope it’s not Jen. I can’t let her know why I’m here – she can’t know. I want my proposal to her to be a surprise and, like Robert said, one that she’ll remember forever.

I look to the doorway and let out a sigh when I see that it’s Mrs King who has entered the house, not Jenny.

“All right, Mrs K?” I say.

“Frank? What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I invited him,” Richie lies smoothly before I can answer. “When Rob here said that he was coming over, I decided to invite Frank, too. I wanted them to get to know each other.”

“And trust me, Hermione, we are getting on like a house on fire,” says Robert. Then he raises his glass. “To friendship!”

“To friendship!” Richie and I say, raising our glasses, and then taking a swig at it.

“Yes, I can see that,” says Mrs King. “Well, have a goodnight and make sure you clean up those glasses, Rich!” Then she heads up the stairs to her bedroom.

I look at my watch – it’s nearly nine o’clock. Jenny should be coming back soon. “Actually, fellas, I better get going,” I say, standing up. “There are some things that I need to do.”

“Mmm, me too,” says Robert, downing the last of his drink.

“I’ll see you lot out,” says Richie, standing up.

We all head down the stairs and out of the house. Robert and I say our goodbyes to Richie and head down the path to our cars.

“Look after Jenny, Frank,” Robert says before he enters the car. “Care for her, support her and protect her.”

“I will, Robert,” I say. “I will.”

He nods and enters the car. Then he starts the engine and pulls out, waving at me as he drives past me. Then he disappears round the corner.

Don’t worry, Robert. I promise that I will take care of her and look after her – like you’ve done for her for all her life.

I get into my car. Then I start it up, pull out and drive home.

Time to put part two of Operation Birthday Surprise into action.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

At first I can’t believe my eyes when I enter the classroom the next day. Carrie is holding a cupcake with a candle on it, and singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ – along with everyone else in the class. I look to the whiteboard and it says ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENNY!’ on it.

“Happy Birthday, Jen!” the class chorus.

I blink in surprise and blow the candle from the cupcake. Then everyone hands their birthday cards to me.

“Wow. Thanks, guys,” I say. “But… my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“We know,” says Carrie. “That’s why we’re celebrating today.”

“I thought maybe we could have a party!” Davina suggests.

“And we don’t get no homework,” Scoop adds.

“Oh guys, I don’t know…” I say.

“Oh, come on, Jen, live a little,” says Rose.

I raise my eyebrows at her. First, Stark’s being nice, and now Rose wants to party rather than study. The world really has gone mad.

“Yeah – it’s not like we’ll get an opportunity like this again,” says Oscar. “Remember that we’re all leaving next year.”

“So what do you say, Jen?” says Donovan. “Can we have a party and get no homework?”

“Please? _Please?_ ” The class look pleadingly at me.

What the hell. It’s Friday and less than twenty-four hours until my birthday. I want to have a bit of fun before the big day.

“Sure,” I shrug with a smile. “Why not?”

The class cheer and soon, Scoop plugs his iPod player into the computer and turns the volume up to some hip-hop beats – though I do tell him to put the volume down because other people have their lessons.

At lunchtime I start to head over to the canteen when my watch communicator vibrates.

“What?” I murmur, looking at the watch communicator. “Oh, you have got to be kidding!”

I turn around and head for the storage cupboard. I make sure that I’m not being followed. When I enter the cupboard, I pull the lever and let the lift take me down to HQ.

“All right, Frank,” I say when the lift doors open. “What’s the big idea calling me down here when you fully well know that I have the weekend…?” I stop when I see who’s in HQ. “Zeke. What are doing here?”

“Hey Jen,” he says. “I’m sorry that I called you down here, but I wanted to wish you an early happy birthday and I wanted to give you your present.” He holds up a white envelope. I take it from him and open it. Inside contained two train tickets.

“What is this, Zeke?” I ask confused.

“Your birthday present,” he says. “You and a friend are going to spend an all-expenses-paid weekend in Paris. You are going to spend two nights at the luxury Shangri-La Hotel, and I’m giving the both of you two thousand euros spending money for your shopping spree.”

I stare at Zeke like he’s gone completely mad. “Are… Are you serious?” I ask. “I’m going to spend my birthday in Paris? As in Paris, France?”

“Yep,” he nods.

I squeal out loud – I can hardly believe it! I’m gonna spend my birthday in the fashion capital of the world!

“Thank you, Zeke!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around him and squeezing him tight. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You are absolutely amazing!”

“Thanks… Thanks for telling me something that… I already know!” he chokes. “Now can you… let go of me? I… I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry!” I pull away. “Oh, my God. Paris – the city of love. And there is no doubt who I want to take with me.”

“Ah, yes. About that…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid that Frank can’t join you on your trip.”

“What?! Why?”

“This letter will explain it.”

Zeke hands a folded piece of paper to me. I open it up and read the letter.

_Dear Jenny,_

_I am ever so sorry but I can’t come with you on your trip to Paris (Zeke told me what he had planned for you). Something has come up concerning my mother. She was involved in an accident and broke her leg. I’m at the hospital in North London to see how she is. She’ll probably be spending the weekend at the hospital before they let her go, and I really don’t want to leave her._

_I’m really sorry that this has happened. I hope you can forgive me. I wish you a happy birthday, and I’ll see you on Monday._

_Love, Frank._

“Oh, my God,” I say after reading. “That’s terrible. I should call him to check if his mother’s OK.”

“You can’t!” Zeke exclaims. “I mean, remember he’s at the hospital, so his phone may be in silent or it’s off. Secondly, you have to go home and pack – you have to leave this evening.”

“But what about Frank?”

“Frank would have wanted you to go out and enjoy yourself – not sit around in some smelly hospital. Is that how you want to spend your birthday?”

“Um… well…” I sigh. “I suppose not. I guess… I guess I could call Livi – she’s always wanted to go to Paris. It will be a girly weekend away for the both of us.”

“There you go.”

“Well, er… I better call Livi and tell her the good news then.” I give Zeke a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again, Zeke.”

He blushes. “You’re welcome.”

I turn and exit HQ via the lift.

So much for Frank’s busy week planning my surprise birthday. But family does come first and let’s face it; I _really_ don’t want to spend my birthday in a hospital.

After I leave the cupboard, I head for the canteen while at the same time taking out my phone and calling Livi to tell her the good news.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’m in the interrogation of HQ, watching Jenny and Zeke on CCTV on my Spy-Pod. I see the look on Jenny’s face as she reads the letter. I should point out that my mother is well, and the letter that I wrote is all part of the Operation Birthday Surprise. While Jenny thinks that I’m at the hospital, I am actually going to broad the train that her and whoever she’s taking with her to Paris – probably Livi – in disguise and stay at the same hotel with them (in a different room, obviously). Then on the evening of her birthday, I will surprise Jenny while she’s having dinner. And while we relax in the lounge later in the evening, that’s when I’ll propose to her.

I watch as Jenny turns and leaves HQ. I receive a signal from Zeke from the security camera to let me know that Jenny’s out of the cupboard and its safe for me to come out. I close my Spy-Pod and put it in my pocket, and then I exit the interrogation room.

“I saw that Jenny took the bait,” I say when I come into the room.

“Hook, line and sinker,” says Zeke. “Can I see it?”

I take the small box out of my pocket and open it, showing Zeke the ring.

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re going to do this!” he says as he stares at the ring. “Jenny is going to be blown away.”

“I hope so. And I hope that she’ll forgive me for lying to her. I also hope that my mother forgives me for using her in the deceit.”

“Believe me, when Jenny sees this ring, she’ll know that the lies were totally worth it.” Zeke looks up to me. “Listen, Frank, like you, I love Jenny. I love her like a sister. I’ll do anything to protect her – even though she’s older than me. I want you to do the same – I want you to care for her and protect her. Hold onto her, Frank. Hold onto her, and whatever you do, _don’t_ let her go.”

I give Zeke a warm smile. “I won’t, Zeke. I promise.”

“Good,” he says. “Because if you do anything to hurt her, I’ll set Ling on to you. Ling, the Cat Android 1000 and all the other androids I’ve built.”

“I promise you, Zeke, that Jen is the only woman for me. There’s no-one else I want.”

“Good.”

Then Zeke holds out his hand for me to shake – which I do.

“Well, I better go home and start packing,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah, man, you go and do that,” says Zeke. “And good luck.”

I nod. Then I turn and exit HQ. After I reach the top and exit the cupboard, I sneak through the corridors, being extra careful not to bump into Jenny. As soon as I’m out of the school, I head for my car and hop in. Then I pull out of the school and head for home to start packing.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The taxi drops me off at St Pancras station at around seven o’clock. My train doesn’t leave for another hour, but I want to be early. After I pay the driver, I take my weekend roller case and enter the station. I head for the café near the Eurostar departure lounge where Livi is already waiting for me.

“Hi!” she calls, waving at me.

“Hey,” I reply taking my seat next to her.

“You have no idea how excited I am! This weekend is going to be awesome! I mean Paris – the fashion capital of the world. I can’t wait to check out the latest fashions there.”

“I’m just looking forward to some serious chilling out time.”

“Thanks so much for inviting me. I am forever in your debt. But… wouldn’t had it been better to take Frank?”

“Frank wanted to come, but his mum injured herself in an accident and he’s visiting her at the hospital. I’ve texted him to check how she is – he haven’t replied back yet.”

“I’m sure that Frank doesn’t want you to spend your birthday wondering how his mother is. He wants you to enjoy yourself and shop until you drop – which is exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll show the Parisians how the Brownstone sisters shop – with style and finesse.”

I laugh at Livi’s comment. We order some drinks while we wait, discussing what we are going to do in Paris.

“Would all passengers for the eight o’clock train to Paris please come to platform five for boarding,” the tannoy announces.

Livi and I jump to our feet and head to platform five. As we board the train and head to our seats. “Oh!” Someone bumps into me as I head to my seat.

“Sorry,” the person grunts and hurries along to their seat.

I furrow my brow at the person. They sounded oddly familiar…

“Jen!” Livi’s voice knocks me out of my thoughts. “Jen, you’re blocking the path.”

I look behind me to see a group of people waiting to go to their seats.

“Sorry!” I smile sheepishly, and I join Livi at our seats by the window.

As the train starts to move, Livi and I join hands and grin at each other.

“Paris here we come!” Livi says excitedly. Then she pulls out a pile of the latest fashion magazines from her bag and starts reading. I’m too excited to do anything except imagine all the fun that we’re gonna have – especially me, as it’s my birthday.

xxoOoxx

When the train arrives at the Gare du Nord station in Paris at around 11:15 P.M., we hop into a taxi and head to the Shangri-La Hotel. We are met by a doorman in a green uniform with gold braiding.

“ _Bonjour, mademoiselles_ ,” he says with a smile.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Livi and I giggle girlishly as we step into the lobby. It’s like a film set!

“Spectacular!” I gasp, gazing at the marble floor and luxurious décor.

“Fabulous,” agreed Livi.

We go over to the check-in desk and get our room keys. We are sharing room 96. Two porters take our bags and lead us to our room.

“This is incredible!” Livi raves, walking around the room.

The room is decorated in a classical French style. Lavish furnishings and sumptuous fabrics are enhanced by sparkling chandeliers and majestic artwork. The beds have thick gold covers and the tall French windows lead out onto the balcony, giving us an exceptional view of the Eiffel Tower and the River Seine. The curtains are a warm cream colour, held back with gold tassels.

I flop back onto my bed and spread my arms out wide. “Now this _is_ luxury!” I declare.

After we finish admiring our room we start to unpack. Afterwards we head to the hotel lounge downstairs for a late-night snack. Then we head back upstairs to our rooms and to our beds – we have a busy weekend ahead and need to get our beauty rest.

xxoOoxx

My birthday morning finds me happier than any birthday I have found in years. I turn over to find Livi’s bed empty – she must be in the bathroom. I jump out of bed, put on my red bathrobe and throw open the French windows to check out the view.

There’s a knock at the door. I head to the door and open it, revealing a porter holding a bouquet of red roses.

“I have a delivery for Mademoiselle Jennifer Brownstone,” he says.

“That’s me,” I tell him.

The porter hands me the roses. “ _Bon anniversaire_.”

I head for my bed on place the roses on it. Then I get my bag and open it, fishing inside for a tip. I take out twenty euros and give it to the porter.

“ _Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle_.”

Nodding my head, I close the door and go back to my bed where I laid the roses. I pick up the card that’s lying in the roses and I read the message.

_Thinking of you with love on your birthday and wishing you everything that brings you happiness today and always._

_Happy birthday._

_Love, Frank._

“Aww!” I coo with delight.

“Who was at the door?” Livi asks when she comes out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel.

“The porter,” I say. “He gave me roses – they’re from Frank! Look at the message he wrote.”

Livi takes the card from me and reads the note. “Aww!” she murmurs.

“I know, right?”

“And while we’re on the subjects of presents…” Livi goes to her bed and takes out a large purple parcel with a silver ribbon from her weekend bag. “Happy birthday, sis.”

I take the present and open it up. I gasp as I see what I’ve got – a jar stuffed full to the brim with classic sweets, including from what I can see Flying Saucers, Frosties, White Mice, Fruit Salad, Refresher Chews, and Anglo Bubbly. On the label of the jar it states the year I was born (1988), my name and a short message: ‘Happy Birthday, love Livi’.

“I love it,” I say, and I give Livi a hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Now get ready – I wanna shop so hard in the Parisian boutiques that I wanna put them out of business.”

I laugh and head for the bathroom.

As soon as I’ve had a shower I step into a gorgeous sable-brown, faux-fur gilet complemented by a carmel-coloured, ribbed t-neck sweater and chic camel-coloured bell bottom trousers. This incredible ensemble also includes matching gloves, brown ankle boots, and a chic leopard-print handbag. Livi is wearing a stylish black coat atop a black shirt, a mid-thigh leopard print skirt, sheer black tights and black Mary Jane shoes, accompanied with a black quilted bag with gold chain straps. Her hair is held in a ponytail with a black ribbon.

“You ready?” I ask her.

“I was born ready,” Livi says. “Let’s go!”

We head out of the hotel. Hugo, the doorman, grins when he sees us.

“Cab, _Mademoiselles_?” he enquires. When we nod he puts two fingers in his mouth and gives a piercing whistle. A white taxi screeches to a halt next to us and we climb in.

“Have a good day!” Hugo calls as we head off, piled into the back of the cab. We wave goodbye and settle back, grinning widely.

“Where to?” the driver asks in French.

“ _La Avenue des Champs-Élysées_ ,” I say. Then I tell Livi, “The Avenue is one of the most famous streets in the world for upscale shopping.”

I can see her excitement bubbling over. The taxi takes us through the Place de la Concorde on the way to Champs-Élysées and we cheer as we see the Arc de Triomphe.

“I have always wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe!” I gasp. We step out of the cab on Champs-Élysées and head for the nearest boutique.

We spend half the morning going up and down the street, checking out the window displays and trying out all the latest looks. Finally, out bags bulging with fabulous new clothes, we head for the Eiffel Tower. When we get to the very top we get a sensational view of Paris.

“This – is – amazing!” Livi squeals. “Quick, let’s take a picture.” We take some shots of the city and the streets below. Then we ask the lift guard to take a picture of me and Livi.

Suddenly, there’s a disturbance not far from where we are to our right; a man is on the floor. It looks like he’s having a heart attack. Then applause breaks out and we see that the man is on one knee, the woman is in tears: it’s a successful proposal. The man springs to his feet and the two of them share a long kiss. More and more people are applauding and whistling; one of the lift guards comes bounding over, punching the air as if it is a personal victory. Strangers approach the couple with congratulations.

“Lucky girl,” I murmur.

“Hmm,” says Livi. Then she asks, “Do you ever think about Frank proposing to you?”

I stare at Livi, surprised at her question – but then again, I have been thinking about this sort of situation for months. I drift into a daydream about Frank doing just that. It’s the same scenario like the couple, but without the people. Its night-time – the moon is full and the stars are out. We’re on top of the Eiffel Tower, having a slow dance. Then we settle down for dinner. We talk, we laugh and we hold hands. Afterwards, we’re watching a firework show, and during the grand finale, Frank leans into me and whispers the four magic words in my ear: “Will you marry me?” I turn to him and see that he has gotten down on one knee, holding the ring. My eyes brim, and I know exactly what I’m going to say – I’m going to say…

“Jen!” I jump when Livi waves in my face.

“What?” I stupidly say.

“I said do you ever think about Frank proposing to you?”

I think about Frank, seeing the past year of bliss as if it has all occurred in a single day, and I feel caught up in an unstoppable tide.

“Yes,” I say finally, turning to Livi. “Yes, Livi, I do.”

She draws in a little gasp of breath. “Really?”

“I can really picture myself in the future with Frank – proposal, marriage, even kids.”

“Ooh!” Livi squeals with delight and hugs me. “I’m so happy for you, sis. Oh, I can’t wait for the day it happens.”

“I can’t wait either. Now let’s get these bags back to the hotel.”

We go over to the elevator, watching the newly-engaged couple pose for photos. We enter the lift and it takes us down to ground level. Then we hail a taxi and return to the hotel. After we drop our bags off, we go to a nearby café for some refreshment.

“Today was amazing,” I gush. “I’m really glad we did it.”

“Me too,” says Livi.

“So is there anything you wanna do for the rest of the day? Do you wanna shop some more? Kick back and relax at the hotel? Or be like a typical Brit and tour the city?”

“Shouldn’t _I_ be asking you these questions? After all, today is _your_ birthday.”

“Oh yeah!” I giggle stupidly. “I totally forgot. All right, I suggest that for my birthday… we head over to the Louvre and visit the Mona Lisa.”

“Great idea. Let’s go.”

We catch a cab to the Louvre. As the driver takes us there, I take out my phone to see if Frank has called or texted. He hasn’t. As much as I enjoy hanging with Livi in the greatest city in the world, it’s not the same without Frank. But then I remember the bouquet of roses that he sent to me – it shows that even though he’s not actually with me in person, he’s with me in my heart.

We arrive at the Louvre ten minutes later, and the first place we head for the High Renaissance collection – where Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is. But when we get there, we see a large number of people crowding around the painting, taking pictures of it.

“Yeah… I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna visit some of the other works in the museum that isn’t as crowded as this,” says Livi.

“OK,” I say as I try to peer through the crowd to catch a glimpse the famous painting, but to no avail. “Let’s meet at the entrance. I’ll see you soon.”

Livi nods and takes her leave. Then I take a deep breath and start to work my way through the crowd to see the Mona Lisa.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I arrive at the Louvre Museum a couple of minutes after Jenny and Livi. I pay the driver and head inside. I go to the High Renaissance collection as I know that that will be the first place they’ll go. When I reach the place, the room is very crowded. I peer around, looking for Livi as she is the one that I need to talk to. I dare go into the crowd in case I do bump into Jen like I did on the Eurostar yesterday. I take some steps back and start looking around the museum for Livi.

After nearly ten minutes, I find Livi at the Decorative Arts collections on the first floor, admiring the Objets d’art collection. Then she turns and starts to come towards my direction. As soon as she exits the room, I grab her by the waist and cover her mouth to stop her from screaming. I drag her to the nearest toilets – the ladies – and upon entering, I let her go and lock the door.

“What the hell?!” Livi cries. Then she sees me. “Stay back! I’ve got pepper spray and a rape alarm in my pocket and I’m not afraid to use them. I also know judo and Tae…”

“Livi, Livi, clam down.” I take off my baseball cap and sunglasses. “It’s me – Frank.”

“Frank?! What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your mum in hospital – back in London!”

I shake my head. “Sorry, Liv. I only said that because I’m planning a surprise for Jenny.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“I’m planning on proposing to Jen – tonight.”

Livi gapes at me. “Are you serious?”

I nod.

“Oh, my God!” Livi shrieks. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God! Are you really gonna propose to her?”

“Shhh! Not so loud,” I tell her. “And yes, I am.”

“Oh, my God. This is so weird, because just today we were talking about marriage.”

“What?” I say with a little choke of surprise.

“Yeah, on the Eiffel Tower a few hours ago. We saw some guy propose to his girlfriend and I was asking Jen whether she’s thought about you proposing to her.”

“What did she say?” I ask desperately.

A smile spreads across Livi’s face. “She said that she can see a future with you!”

“Really?”

“She can see you proposing to her, marrying her – even having children! Frank, she wants to spend the rest of her life with you.”

I stare at Livi in astonishment. I can’t believe Jenny wants to settle down with me. She wants to be my wife and the mother of my children. She really _is_ the perfect girl for me.

“So, how are planning on proposing to her?” Livi asks.

I shake my head to bring myself back to Earth. “Oh, erm, I’m planning on doing it at dinner tonight. This is why I have come to you, Liv. You need to find a way to get her to come down to restaurant by herself.”

Livi salutes me. “Consider it done.”

“Also, you cannot tell her that you saw me or what I am planning to do. Please – you have got to promise me that.”

“These lips are most definitely sealed.”

I put my hands together and bow. “Thank you.”

“Ooh, I can’t believe that you’re gonna propose!” Livi squeals. “This is so cool!” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m so happy for you guys. You better take care of her, all right? If I find out that you’ve hurt her, I will so kick your arse. Remember, I take Tae Bo and judo lessons.”

“I know.” I hug her back.

Livi pulls back and sniffles. “Right, well, I better go and find Jen. She’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Yeah, I better go back and get ready,” I say. “Remember to get her to the restaurant by herself. And remember – you didn’t see me.”

“Gotcha.”

I put on my baseball cap and sunglasses, and I unlock the door. We get strange looks from everyone when Livi and I exit the toilets, but we ignore them. They must think that we… you know, in there. Livi and I nod our heads – as a way of saying goodbye – and then we go our separate ways. Then I leave the museum and hail for a cab and return to the hotel to begin the final part of my plan.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

After seeing the Mona Lisa – and getting a telling off from the security guards for trying to cut – I wait around for Livi. I look at my watch – she should be back by now. Maybe she’s looking at the Venus de Milo nearby.

Eventually, I get a bit tired of waiting and stroll off to the souvenir shop. As I browse around the shop, I notice that the man near me is acting really weird. He keeps glancing around him, darting looks from side to side. Suddenly he pulls a bundle of reproductions print posters from the shelf in front of him, rolls them into a tube and shoves them under his coat. Then he starts to walk quickly towards the door.

“Hey, stop! Thief!” I yell.

The guy begins to run. I go after him. I can see the shop manager trying to reach him, but he’s too far away – which is all the more reason for me to pick up my legs and go after him. The thief pelts out of the door and into the courtyard, barging into people as he goes. I notice close by a crowd of people watching a performing artist using the ribbons – the kind that you’ll see in rhythmic gymnastics. I go over to the girl with the ribbons and take one of them from the ground.

“Hey!” the girl cries.

“Sorry, I’ll give it back, thank you!” I say quickly as I run. I see the thief is going past the Louvre Pyramid. I notice that someone has bent down to tie up their shoelace. I run up to the person and hurdle myself onto their back.

The person starts to complain and protest in French when I jump off their back, propelling me in the air. Then using the ribbon as an extending arm, I throw it around the thief, ensnaring him.

“Oof!” the thief puffs when I pull him to the ground, the ribbon tightening him. Then I go up to him, and I pull him to his feet and take him back into the museum as everyone around me claps, cheers and take pictures.

Once we’re inside, the shop manager and a couple of security guards run up, grab him and take him away. Just then, Livi shows up.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “I just foiled an art thief at the Louvre. You know the usual.”

Before Livi can reply, the shop manager comes up to us with the stolen posters in his arms and a big smile on his face.

“ _Merci, mademoiselle_. _Merci beaucoup_ , you have just saved us a lot of money,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. “It was nothing.”

“I would like to reward you. Please, I’d like you to these free entrance tickets, plus exclusive entry into a restricted area of the museum, where you can see very special artwork.”

“Thanks!” I gasp, taking the tickets. I turn to Livi. “Unless you don’t want to come if you don’t want to…”

“Jenny,” she says, “if there’s one other thing I love more than fashion and guys is free stuff. Of course I’m coming.”

We say our thanks to the shop manager and enter the museum again.

We have the most amazing time looking around the Louvre – I’m very inspired by the wonderful art that we see. The use of colour gives Livi some ideas for new fashion combinations and we both just love the sculptures. By the time we are ready to leave it’s dark and we suddenly realized how hungry we are.

“How about we head back to the hotel and change into our new gear, then hit the restaurant for a luxury-style birthday meal?” Livi suggests.

“Good plan,” I say, and grab a taxi.

Back at the hotel we unpack our boutique bags and get ready. I choose a lilac shantung sheath dress that go up to my knees. My dress is accented with a slit at the front, small bows at the shoulders, and a self-belt. My accessories include faux pearl drop earrings, and lilac heels. Livi is wearing a brilliant blue one-shoulder dress with a shimmering tulle overlay and tons of tiny sparkles trimming the top and skirt. Her golden accessories include a headband, hoop earrings, a collar necklace and a chain belt.

We leave our room and take the elevator down to the lobby. But as we head to the restaurant, Livi stops. “Oh no!” she cries.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I forgot my purse. I’ll have to go back upstairs to get it.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s fine. You go on ahead without me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am. Now go. Go before we lose our table.”

Livi goes back into the elevator and I head to the restaurant.

Upon entering the serene dining room of La Bauhinia, the splendid dome-shaped glass roof brightens up the elegant décor and casts light on its fine details. Bathing in hues of celadon, amidst deep red velvet sofas and black lacquered wood tables, Asian-inspired porcelain art and antiques reflect the legacy of the Shangri-La Hotel rooted in the Far East.

But as I enter the restaurant, I can’t help but freeze in my tracks. Nothing can prepare me for this. It’s him. “You.”

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’m sitting at my table in the restaurant, waiting anxiously for Jenny to show up. God, I’m so nervous. My legs are shaking and my palms are sweaty. What if she doesn’t show up? Of course she’s coming. Livi is going to text me to tell me whether or not Jenny’s coming. I check the inside breast pocket of my jacket to see if the box is still inside – for the hundredth time! Of course it still is.

Just calm down, Frank, I order myself. Calm down and get ahold of yourself. Take a few deep breaths.

I take slow deep breaths to calm my nerves – then my phone beeps, and I jump. I’m getting odd looks from everyone at the restaurant. I smile sheepishly at them and I take out my phone. It’s a text from Livi.

_Jen’s coming! Good luck!_

OK, Frank, I tell myself. Time to put the last part of Operation Birthday Surprise into action.

I take one more deep breath and taking the single red rose that I have next to me, I climb to my feet and I turn around – just in time to see how gorgeous Jenny looks when she enters the restaurant. As soon as she sees me, she freezes on the spot.

“You.” she says.

I smile and start to step towards her, walking slowly, majestically. I hand her the rose. “Happy birthday.”

“Frank…” Jenny sighs. “Wh-what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be visiting your mother in the hospital – all the way back in London?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have to. My mother is as right as rain.”

She stares at me blankly. “Wha…? You mean… you mean she didn’t…? I mean she’s not…?”

I nod. “I only said that so I can surprise you.”

“Yes. Well. You’ve certainly surprised me.”

“Shocked, more like. I’m sorry.”

For a few seconds, Jenny doesn’t say anything. Then she leans towards me and kisses me. “Oh Frank…” She throws her arms around me. “I’m so glad that you’re here.”

“Me too,” I say, hugging her back. “Now let’s sit down and order ourselves a meal.”

“But what about Livi? Shouldn’t we wait…?” It dawns to her. “She’s not coming, is she?”

“No,” I say as I shake my head.

“She knew that you were here, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“And you told her not to tell me that you’re here, didn’t you?”

I nod again.

Jenny looks at me, and despite her attempts to furrow her brow, a smile flickers around her mouth. “I should be furious at you for telling Livi to keep the secret from me – Livi too,” she says, waggling her finger at me. Then she adds, “But I suppose I can forgive the two of you – mainly you because you’re so cute.”

I grin at her comment. Then, I take her hand and lead her to the table at the corner of the room so we can be private. We sit across from each other and hold hands.

“This really was a nice surprise, Frank,” Jenny says. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply. “And sorry – again.”

“Again? What for?”

“For bumping into you on the Eurostar yesterday.”

“That was you? I knew you sounded familiar!”

I smile in response. I motion with my hand and call over the waiter. I order red wine for us. Then we order our meal. We gorge on the freshest and finest French breads and pastries, we indulge in a luscious selection of French cheese, enjoy a refined platter of cold cuts alongside genuine Asian specialty dishes from Thailand, Malaysia and Japan, beautifully arranged in a buffet. During the meal, Jenny tells me how she stopped a thief from making off with expensive print posters and was rewarded with free tickets to the Louvre and access to restricted areas of the museum.

“Now that your crime busting talents have been distributed across the Channel, you’re now an international crime-fighter,” I say, causing her laugh.

Afterwards, we relish a selection of ‘old-fashioned’ French desserts, with its assortment of subtle delicacies, fresh seasonal fruit and a large choice of fine biscuits and cakes.

“Well, this was delicious.” Jenny wipes her mouth with the napkin and leans back from the empty plate. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Mmmm, me too,” I mumble, gulping down the rest of my wine.

After I pay for our meals, we head over to the bar on the first floor. We get comfortable by the window where there’s a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower.

Jenny leans into me, pressing her body against my side. “Thank you for making this birthday special,” she says.

“Anything for you, my darling,” I say. I dip my head and meet my mouth with her lips. Then we relax and take in the view of the inspiring city that is Paris.

A waiter comes to check on us, and I order champagne. It’s time to put the final of Operation Birthday Surprise into action.

The waiter arrives with our champagne and sets it on the table. I’ve only got one chance to do this.

“Hey, isn’t that Robert Downey, Jr. over there?” I say, pointing at the far end of the room behind her.

“Where?” Jenny quickly turns to see, giving me time to take the ring out of the box and put it in her champagne glass. “I don’t see him. Where is he?”

“Oh…” I shrug. “Sorry – it must have been someone who looked like him. Sorry about that. Anyway…” I hand Jenny her glass with the ring. “Here’s to you, Jen, for turning twenty-five.” I raise my glass. “Happy birthday.”

“And here’s to us for being in the most romance city in the world,” she says. “To Paris.”

“To Paris.” We clink our glasses. As I sip my champagne, I watch Jenny sip hers – and stop when she finds the ring in her glass.

“Hm? What’s this?” She pulls out the ring. “What the…?” Her eyes widen. She slowly turns to me. “Frank?”

I give her a warm, sincere smile. “They say that once in your life, you’ll meet someone who you can bare your soul to and accept you just the way you are. I am lucky to have that, to meet that ‘once-in-a-lifetime someone’ and if I miss this chance I know that I will live my whole life regretting. I’ve been waiting for this for the longest time. I’ve been looking for this opportunity to go beyond my horizon and face all the world’s uncertainties. And all my life I was afraid. All my life I was not sure if I can take this biggest risk of starting my life. With you I am ready to love forever and if today I will be hurt again, I know that it will be worth it. You are the most amazing thing that ever happened to me and for the first time in my life, I feel that I’m invincible – ready to take all the pain, ready for whatever that we have to go through. For what it’s worth, know that I will fight for you no matter what. I will fight everyone who is against us. And if the time comes that you will give up on me, I will fight even you until you realize that what we have is not something you can easily give up on because our love is real. Our love is our destiny. I am taking this once-in-a-lifetime chance of uniting with my soulmate and I’m begging you to take this chance too.” I go down on one knee. “Jennifer Christine Brownstone, will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife?”

Her hand flies over her mouth. Speechless and overwhelmed with emotion, tears well up in her eyes and overflow down her cheeks in spite of her best effort to keep them at bay.

After a minute of absorbing the heartfelt speech and proposal that I laid onto her, Jenny says the words that I want to hear: “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll be your wife.”

Then it’s all something of a blur: nudges and turning heads at the other tables, applause starting up as I clean the ring with a napkin and slip it on Jenny’s ring finger. Champagne, whistling, and Jenny and I sharing a passionate kiss.

“I love you so much, Frank London,” Jenny says softly.

“And I love you too… Jenny London,” I grin, and we embrace each other.

Operation Birthday Surprise is a success.


	38. Passion in Paris

**(Jenny’s POV)**

You’ll never guess what! I’ve only just got bloody engaged to the sweetest most handsome man in the world! I’m so happy happy happy. I want to laugh, sing, shout, even have a little cry – which, by the way, did happen. I can’t _wait_ to tell Livi – and Zeke, Mum and Dad, and Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie. Hell, I want to tell everyone in the whole wide world that I’m going to marry Frank London!

“Is it a horrible cliché if I say I’m the happiest girl in the world?” I whisper in Frank’s ear as we slunk over to the elevator, his hand on the small of my back.

“Probably. But clichés are mostly true, aren’t they?”

“I suppose.” I look down at my hand and stare at that the beautiful gold diamond cluster ring. I really am the happiest girl in the world. “So, how long have you been planning this proposal for?”

Frank turns to me and says, “From the moment I saw you.”

I snuggle closer still and he kisses the top of my head as we wait for the elevator.

“What room are you staying in, Frank?” I ask.

“I’m in room 101,” he says.

I nod. It’s just a few doors down from me and Livi’s room. I think about how I can make tonight even more special. Maybe it’s my birthday or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just got engaged, but… I want to take this to the next level. I want to experience… intimacy – or lovemaking as it’s called.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks when I ask, “Frank, can I… can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course you can…” He looks down and sees how red my cheeks are – they are flaming hot! He senses what I want. “Oh! You mean you want to… you know?”

I shyly nod.

“Jenny, are you sure?” he asks.

“I’ve never been surer in my life,” I say.

He gazes deep into my eyes. Then his lips lift into a sweet smile. “OK,” says Frank. He gives me a little hug.

We enter the elevator and it takes us to the top floor. Frank holds an arm around my waist and leads me to his room, while my heart beats faster and faster and faster… I’m a bit scared… but I really do want this.

Once we’re inside and Frank closes the door, I slide into his arms and kiss him deeply, full tongue, arms around his neck. He responds, running his hands up and down my back.

“Jenny…” His lips move gently, down my neck… his arms go around me, and as my body is pressed against his, I can feel his heartbeat, as rapid as my own. His lust for me is now undisguised, I can feel how hard he is, and it wants to take a dip in my pool of ecstasy. I press against him, now rubbing myself against his erection, the friction alone amping me up. I’m so hot and wet I can feel the lips of my pussy swelling.

I tilt my head to the side to give him better access to my neck. Then releasing my arms from his neck, I reach down and unbutton his shirt.

Frank pauses briefly. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to force yourself.”

I pull him back and run my hands up and down his open chest. “I want this. I want you, Frank.”

I feel warm inside as he smiles down at me. Then, he slowly tilts my chin, and his lips closed gently over mine.

My knees go weak. In another minute, they’ll be too weak to support me. “Take me to bed,” I whisper.

Frank picks me up and carries me to the bed. After he lays me on the bed, he then steps back and removes his jacket and shirt. Then he takes off his shoes and socks, and he unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. The sight of him standing before me complete with bulging white boxer shorts and slimly muscled physique makes my mouth water. He draws himself down to me so that our faces are only inches apart. I fidget on the bed, trying to get comfortable, painfully aware of the wet spot between my legs. Frank’s hand on my thigh stills me.

I giggle nervously, still feeling timid and hesitant. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Then let me calm you down.” Frank leans close and kisses me. Strong and deep, stopping to mumble, “ _Mon chérie amour_ ,” into my mouth, and then kissing me some more.

I can feel Frank’s hard nipples grazing my own. I cradle Frank’s face, kissing him over and over, while he unzips the back of my dress and runs a finger down my spine. Frank pulls away from me and quickly pulls down my dress to reveal that I’m wearing nothing but white lace briefs and two white pasties over my nipples. And the heels, of course. The lilac stilettos. I’m so aroused I can smell the scent of my own juices filling the air.

Frank swallows thickly as his eyes drink in my scantily clad body. My reward for years of karate and taekwondo classes, as well as training in the gym at Zeke’s secret base.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on, Jenny,” Frank says.

“And I am yours, Frank,” I respond.

He strokes my face and kisses me so deeply he takes my breath away. I need him inside of me.

Frank’s hand caresses the cheeks of my bottom while the other peels one of the nipple pasties away and he starts to fondle my breast as we kiss. When he begins twisting my nipple, my moans grows louder, which makes his cock even harder. His kisses fall on my throat, my chest, he sucks on my nipple until it’s so hard I can barely feel it.

“Ahhhh!” I shudder and whimper softly, as Frank continues to send silvery spikes of pleasure down my spine. He peels the other nipple pasty away, and he squeezes my other breast and tweaks my erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I close my eyes as the warm sensation trickles throughout my body. I twin my fingers in his hair; the soft ringlets tickle my palms.

Frank pulls his mouth and hand away from my full breasts, leaving my nipples wet, hard and standing tall. He slides a trail of kisses between my breasts down to my stomach. His artful tongue licks the droplets of sweat gathered near my belly button. While he licks my flat taut belly he slowly peels off my knickers exposing my shaven pussy. Frank moves away from my stomach and spreads my legs wide and goes between them. He looks up at me and I nod my head. Then, he goes down between my legs and he slips two of his fingers inside my drenching wet pussy and sucks on my clit.

“Aahn!” I moan as my eyes roll to the back of my head. I groan in delight. I sigh and pant in pleasure.

His warm tongue works on my clit, sucking on it like a piece of juicy fruit. He works his fingers like a cock, thrusting in and out of my wet pussy. He teases me by blowing cool air on my wet skin, then goes back in with his tongue and fingers and sucks on my clit and fucks my pussy. My hands weave through his hair as my pelvis pushes forward, seeking satisfaction, pressing myself, subtly grinding against his hand and mouth.

“Yes! Oh God, yes!” I cry out as my hips start to go crazy. I feel the warm wave moving inside me, signalling climax is approaching. I can feel the contractions deep inside me. Everything seems to just throb with pleasure.

“Ah… Ah… Aahh!” My back arches high and I feel my pussy walls tighten over his fingers, sending me into a cry of ecstasy and an explosive orgasm that shoots out of me onto Frank’s mouth, nearly drowning him. After a while, my convulsions settle to gentle quakes and tiny quivers.

Frank smiles at me, twisting his fingers inside me so gently before slowly drawing it out of my still-clenching hole.

“Oh. My. God.” I pant and shake, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Yeah?”

“Amazing.”

Frank grins at my praise. “Thanks.”

I take Frank’s hand and bring it to my lips. My mouth sucks in his fingers as I hungrily lick my juices off.

Taking his fingers out of my mouth, Frank leans in for a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues mashing together, our hands roaming each other’s bodies. Then he pulls away from me and gets off the bed and removes the last of his clothing – his boxers – to reveal his hard, big, thick and soon-to-be very fulfilling cock. Frank goes to the bedside table and opens the drawer. He picks up a condom, opens it and puts it on. Then he goes into the drawer again and takes out a small blue bottle. He squeezes the product onto his palm, and then greases his hard dick with it.

Frank pounces on top of me, lining his cock against my pussy, begging for entrance. “You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. Then I poke his shoulder. “Be gentle!”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

Frank kisses me again. I deepen the kiss, getting lost in his mouth until I feel the tear of the hymen and the sharp pain that follows. “Ah… Aaah! Oww…”

Frank stills immediately. “Are you all right, Jen? If it’s too painful, we can quit right away.”

“No, I’m fine,” I pant. Like hell I am.

“It’s OK, Jen. I’ll get it in and then it’ll all be over.”

I nod, burying my head in his shoulder. Inch by inch, Frank slowly sinks his erection within my sex.

I sneak a look at his face. “You OK?”

“You feel so good.” He kisses my neck. “I want to make you feel good.” He smiles at me as he surges and sinks himself to the hilt. “There. It’s all in.”

I lay beneath him, getting accustomed to his penis inside me. “Move a little.”

He withdraws, but stops when I wince. “No, keep going.”

He starts moving inside me, slowly at first. I can tell he’s straining to stay in control of himself. “Thank you for your patience,” I murmur.

He starts thrusting faster. Somewhere along the way, the pain dulled. I realize I actually feel good. No orgasm looms on the horizon, but the sensations are bearable. I open my legs a little more, becoming lost in the lovely and intense sensations, holding on to his neck and moaning softly into his ear as little waves of pleasure start to wash over my body as he continues his steady movements.

“Oh, Frank! I love the feel of your cock inside me,” I whisper. He pulls my legs around his waist, dipping deeper into me.

Soon, Frank’s breathing is becoming increasingly laboured. “Oh Jen, I… I can’t hold it. Here it comes… here it comes! Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he roars. Frank lets out such a growl it’s nothing short of primal.

I can’t take it any longer either. I go into a frenzy. “Ah… Ah… Ahhh! I’m… cumming! I’m cumming!” I shout. I come so hard I feel like a rocket about to be zoomed into space, wild and breathing fire and out of control.

Frank and I collapse on the bed, still on top of each other, spent, breathless, lethargic, but more than that, euphoric. After we have both recovered, Frank slowly and gently pulls his cock out of me with a small audible pop and rolls over to the right side of the bed, and lying flat on his back, he removes the condom and discards it in the bin next to the bed.

My head lolls towards him and I stare at his cock and notice that he’s still hard. Before I know it, I sit up and crawl down between his legs.

“Jen, what are you – uhhn!” Frank groans as I take his semi-hard dick in my mouth. My swirling tongue bathes the knob as massaging lips make a gurgling descent down the shaft. I suck noisily as I bob up and down in a hungry rhythm.

Despite his girth, I manage to deep-throat him. I get as much of him inside as I can and fuck his cock with my mouth, gagging just a little each time the head of his cock hits the back of my throat, causing Frank to moan uncontrollably.

“Oh, yeah.” He runs his hands through my hair as I continue to suck his long, hard cock while playing with his balls with one hand and pumping his shaft with the other. A trickle of precome leaves a salty-sweet taste on my tongue. Soon, it’s going to be soon.

“Ahh… Jenny…” His orgasm is fast approaching, but just when he’s about to come, I stop, and remove my mouth from his cock, making Frank moan in disappointment.

“Not yet, baby, I’m not finished with you,” I say huskily. I go over to the drawer and take out the lube and another condom. I tear the condom wrapper with my teeth, grasp Frank’s cock and roll the condom over it. Then I take the lube and squeeze some on my palm, and then coat the sheathed cock with the lube.

Frank takes a deep breath when he sees me climb on top of him and hover over his hard cock. With my hand, I guide his cock inside me and we both groan, feeling my tight wetness slide down easily to the base.

I hold my gaze with my eyes, my dark brown eyes burning with desire. Frank grimaces as I begin to gyrate my hips in a circular fashion; my wet pussy feels so good squeezing all around his cock.

I place my hands onto his chest and slowly my pussy begins to slide up and down.

His hands go up and fondle my breasts as I ride his cock like a buck wild cowgirl riding an untamed horse.

“Damn! You feel so good! Oh, God.” I moan at the wonderful sensation of Frank’s cock hitting my spot on every stroke, as well as his hands squeezing and plucking my own rock-hard nipples as I fuck him.

Suddenly, Frank grips me by my hips and arching his back, gives one hard thrust, pushing deeper into me.

“Haa!” I gasp. Our bodies soon begin to collide faster. Throwing my head back in pleasure, I let my body absorb all the amazing feelings running through me. All I can hear is the moans, groans and cries that we’re making, our bodies slapping against each other and the creaking of the bedsprings. Deeper and deeper his cock goes into my tight wet pussy.

Our fucking is so intense that I can’t hold back anymore. I try to fight my coming orgasm, but it only makes me want to cum that much harder.

“Aaah! I’m about to cum again!” I moan. “I’m… I’m gonna cum again! Aaaah!”

My insides tingle, my heartbeat increases and my breath is caught in my throat. The waves crash, sending electricity from muscle to muscle, vessel to vessel through my veins and shooting up to my brain. I feel my scalp searing and my eyes begin to water. My nipples stiffen as spasms rush through my entire body. Shock waves flood my clit; my walls tighten, release, then throb. I feel him jerk, and I tighten my walls, determine to drain him.

“Ugh,” he moans.

I hold on.

“Ugh.” He digs his fingernails into my hips.

When he explodes, even though he’s deep inside me and wearing a condom, I feel an intense burning sensation. It has me teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain; satisfaction is within reach. My body feels so drained as I succumb to the pleasures of the flesh and collapse onto Frank’s chest. In our embrace, I quiver in echoes of pleasure. I’m worn-out, depleted, and somnolent.

I slowly lift my head and lean in to kiss Frank, wrapping my tongue around his. We drink up every bit of sweet saliva as I enjoy the massages from the soft tongue of Frank. After a few moments of French kissing, I feel Frank’s cock go limp inside me and I slowly lift myself off his body. I lay on my side with my body close to him, my arm draped over his chest, wrapping my leg around his. Frank’s hand strokes the silky curve of my left hip as the other rubs my back lovingly.

“You are indeed magnificent,” I say quietly. I lean up and kiss Frank tenderly on the side of his lips. “I really love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses the top of my head.

We lay here, naked, uncovered, on the bed until we both fall into a dreamless sleep, wrapped in the warmth and safety of each other’s arms.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I wake up the next morning to the sight of blue skies and the Eiffel Tower, and the sound of birds. For a moment, I thought I had dreamed it all, until I look down at my still naked body and I look over to see that Jenny is lying naked with her back to me.

I grin from ear to ear as the events of last night come back to me. Surprising Jenny at the restaurant, proposing to her and afterwards… Ah, afterwards. I sigh happily as I replay the event in my head. We – or should I say Jenny – finally decided to take our relationship to the next level, and we made love for the first time. It was most definitely worth the wait. I lie on my side and watch her for a moment. She’s so beautiful – I still can’t believe she said yes. This is just like something out of my dream. Except it’s not a dream – it’s absolutely, 100% real!

I can’t help it as I creep up to her and plant light kisses on the back of her neck and on her right shoulder.

“Mm?” Jenny stirs. Then she looks over her shoulder and though her eyes are half open, she smiles when she sees me. “Good morning, Frank.”

“Good morning, love,” I say. “Sleep well?”

“Like a rock, thanks to you.” She turns her body around so she’s facing me. “Last night was truly amazing. It’s how I always imagined how my first time would be. Thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She strokes my arm gently. “Frank… can you say it again?”

I stare at her, confused. “Say what again?”

“What you said last night.”

“I love you?”

“No – although, I do appreciate it. No, the other thing. I’ll give you a clue.” She brings up her left hand.

“Oh…” Now I know what she’s talking about. I smile and take her hand, and I say, “Jennifer Christine Brownstone, will you be my wife?”

She smiles. “Yes, yes, a million times yes.” Then she leans in and kisses me gently. I gather her in my arms so that she’s lying on my chest. “I still can’t believe I’m engaged,” she says, staring at her ring.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” I say, and Jenny laughs.

“God, there’s so much we have to do for this wedding. Where are we going to have it? What dress am I going to wear? Where would we have our honeymoon? Who do we in–?”

A single finger silences her. “Let’s not worry about all that. For now, let’s just cuddle and enjoy each other’s company.”

Jenny nods. “OK.”

Afterwards we continue to lie for a long time – until the phone rings.

“Sorry,” says Jenny. She reaches for her bag on the bedside table and takes out her phone. “Hello?”

“Did you say yes? Did you say yes?” I hear Livi squeak down the line.

“Livi, don’t you think that if I didn’t say yes, I wouldn’t have spent the night with him?”

There is a little silence. Then Livi squeals, “So did you say yes?”

“Of course I bloody said yes!”

A screaming “ _Kyaaaa!_ ” from the phone makes Jenny hold it away from her ear for a moment. Then suddenly, we hear a muffled, “My sister’s getting married! My sister’s getting married! Listen up, Paris – my sister’s getting married! Woooo-hoooo!”

“Oh, my God,” says Jenny, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.

“I think she’s gone completely round the bend,” I say.

“Oi, you, be nice.” Jenny taps me gently on the nose. “And may I remind you that she will soon be your sister-in-law.”

“Oh bugger, I forgot about that.”

Jenny chuckles and she lies back down onto my chest. “So other than Livi, who else did you tell about the proposal?”

“Oscar, Rose and Carrie, obviously. Zeke, your Uncle Richie… and your father.”

“My dad?” Jenny looks up at me. “When did you see him?”

“On Thursday night. I went over to your house to ask for Richie’s blessing in marrying you, but when I knocked on the door, your father – instead of Richie – answered. He took me completely by surprised when he introduced himself. So anyway, after he let me in, I asked him for his blessing, and he said yes.”

“Ah. So what do you think of him – my dad?”

“He’s a nice guy. He kind of reminds me of you. He certainly looks like you – or you look like him, whichever.”

“Well, I’m really glad you got to meet him.” Jenny lies back down again. After a long pause, she asks, “So what do you think we should do today?”

“Hmmmm,” I say. “How about we just lie here and relax? All day, until we have to check out of the hotel this evening. How does that sound?”

Jenny snuggles closer to me and lets out a luxurious sigh. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

And that’s exactly what we do.


	39. Globodex Research Institute

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Frank and I arrive at St Hope’s on Monday afternoon – a little before lunchtime, and a little later than usual. We arrived back in London from Paris late last night and we overslept. I called Mr. Flatley to apologize and told him that we were coming in, much to Frank’s annoyance, who wanted to spend the whole day in bed. Livi also came back with us, and she’s completely over the moon about me and Frank’s engagement. She’s been calling and texting everyone the amazing news – I’m pretty sure she’s still doing it now. And her eyes were gleaming when she saw the ring.

I look down at my hand and I spread my fingers wide. I smile blithely as I gaze at my ring. This was definitely the best weekend ever – and most definitely the best birthday (present) ever! _Wait till I tell everyone at school!_

“Ready to show it off?” Frank asks, looking down at my hand.

“You bet I am!” I say, smiling.

We both hop out of the car and enter the school. In the foyer, I lean forward and give his cheek a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

“OK, see you,” says Frank, and we go our separate ways.

I run down the corridor and up the stairs to the gym – I’m about seven minutes late. It’s really noisy inside as I take a few steps to the door. The kids are all taking advantage of me not being in there. I quickly take off my ring and put it in my pocket (I want to surprise everyone at the end of the lesson) and I enter the gym, acting nonchalant.

“Hi, everyone. I’m so _so_ sorry I’ve come in at this time,” I say, dropping my bag onto the pile of mats. I can see Carrie whispering something into Rose’s ear and pointing at my left hand. She looks disappointed – just she waits until the end of the lesson.

“Right!” I say, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get ready to sweat!”

We spend the lesson doing stretching and flexibility exercises before moving to push-ups, sit-ups, abdominal crunches and lunges. At the end of the lesson while everyone is showering up, I take my ring out of my pocket and slip it on my finger again. I twist it proudly round and round my finger. I still can’t believe I’m getting married!

The door to the changing room opens and everyone starts to come out, making their way to door out of the gym.

“Isn’t anyone gonna ask me how my birthday went?” I ask, hiding my left hand behind my back.

Rose turns and notices. She nudges Carrie and Oscar, and nods at my hidden hand.

Carrie immediately cheers up. “So, Jenny…” she starts, raising one eyebrow, “how _was_ your birthday?”

I flash a wide, happy smile. “It was unbelievable,” I admit. “Livi and I saw some fabulous fashions in Paris. We shopped until we dropped; we saw all the fantastic sights around the city, and saw the art in the Louvre. And then at dinner when Frank showed up…” I go pink. Then I hold up my hand, showing off my engagement ring.

“No way!” Davina shrieks. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “Frank proposed!”

There’s a gasp and then the entire class explodes into applause and cheers. The girls rush up to me and crowd around me to see the ring.

“Omigosh!” Carrie squeals. “It’s beautiful!”

“This is amazing!” says Avril.

“You have to invite us to the wedding!” says Davina.

“What is going on in here?” says a voice.

Everyone goes quiet and turn to see Aunt Hermione at the door.

“Well?” she says.

“Sorry, Auntie, it’s my fault that everyone got excited,” I say. “It’s just that, and I’m sure Mum and Dad have already told you, but Frank asked me to marry him – and I said yes.”

Everyone backs away from me as Aunt Hermione comes up to me. She takes my hand and stares at the ring.

“Hmmm…” she says. Suddenly, she throws her arms around me. “Oh, Jenny! I’m so happy!”

“Y-you are?” I ask feeling a little bit surprised.

“Of course I am!” Aunt Hermione pulls away. “Your uncle told me the news this morning. He heard last night from your father who was told by Livi.” She hugs me again. “Oh, I can’t believe you’re getting married. We have to celebrate. Oh, I know! We’ll have a party – a St Hope’s engagement party.”

“A party? But what about lessons?”

“Your engagement party is much more important than lessons. In fact, school is cancelled for the rest of the day. Today, we are gonna have a party to celebrate Jenny and Frank’s engagement.”

There’s a loud roar of cheers and whoops.

“And we’re gonna need some supplies,” says Aunt Hermione. “So if everyone would like to follow me.”

Everyone continues to clap and cheer as they follow Aunt Hermione out of the gym. As I follow them out into the corridor, my watch communicator vibrates. Rose, Oscar and Carrie rush up to me – as their pencil communicator tops are flashing – and we run through the corridors to the storage cupboard. After we fit into the small space, Oscar pulls the lever and the lift takes us down to HQ.

Let’s see what’s in store.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I watch the clip of the person sprinting away from the facility that MI9 e-mailed to me again, trying to find out who this person is. It’s hard to see their face because the recording was late at night and the dark shadows is covering the person’s face. I’ve called MI9 to see if they have any other footage but they’ve told me that that’s the only one as all the other security cameras in the facility that the intruder is running away from have all been destroyed.

_SWOOSH!_

I turn to see the Jenny and the team enter HQ, with Carrie having the biggest grin on her face.

“I’ve take it you’ve heard the good news then,” I say.

“You bet we have!” Carrie replies. “Congratulations!”

“Yeah. We’re happy for you,” says Oscar. “Jenny, too.”

“Thanks, guys,” she says.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say.

“So, come on, Frank! Tell us how you proposed to her,” says Carrie. “Did you do it during a romantic boat ride along the River Seine? Did you ask her to marry you at the top of the Eiffel Tower? Or did you…?”

“Carrie,” Rose intervenes, “I don’t think Frank called us down here to tell us how he proposed to Jenny.”

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly.

“Maybe next time, Carrie,” says Jenny. “Right now, I believe that Frank has got a mission for us. Isn’t that right?”

I nod in response and turn on the left screen, showing everyone a picture of a large, white building. “This is the Globodex Research Institute. A private facility located in Sutton, south London that deals with experimental science, cross-species genetics, life sciences and atomic research, all in the name of helping and improving. Last night, someone broke into the institute. We have no idea what was stolen.”

“Do we know what they look like?” Oscar asks.

“The intruder took out all the security cameras in the facility. The only footage we have is this.” I play the clip that I watched earlier, showing the silhouette of the intruder fleeing away from the institute at full speed, carrying whatever they stole with them.

“I can’t see the person’s face!” Carrie says as she squints.

“This person is good,” says Rose. “They took out all the security cameras and hid in the shadows so we can’t see them.”

“Or what they stole,” Oscar adds.

“Which is all the more reason to check this place out,” says Jenny. “Gadgets?”

“Today, you’ll have the Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray.” I hold up the red perfume bottle. “It releases a spray that temporarily stuns a person. Next, we have the Mini Bombs.” I show them the marble-sized, metallic purple bombs. “They can explode on contact when thrown at something. Then we have the Sonic Devastator Mobile Phone Ring.” I hold up a ring with a tiny mobile phone mounted on it. “This small device, when activated, releases high energy sonic waves that can shatter glass and completely incapacitate the enemy, making them writhe in agony. You can activate it by pressing the 6-7-2 buttons on the phone. They also come with the Sound Dampening Headphones, so you’ll be unaffected by the sonic waves. Finally, we have this…” I hold up four backpacks. “The Jetpack Backpacks.”

“Cool,” says Carrie, taking one. “This sure beats taking the bus to school.”

“Well for now let’s use these to get ourselves to the institute,” says Oscar, strapping his Jetpack on his back. “Let’s go.”

The team turn and head for the lift. As Jenny enters the lift, I call to her. “Jen, wait.”

“Huh?” She turns. “Frank, what’s wrong?”

“Um, uh, I…”

“Frank?”

“Um, I… I just wanted to wish you luck on your mission and just to tell you to be careful,” I say, rubbing my neck.

“Aww!” Carrie murmurs, making me redden – but Jenny is smiling.

“Of course I’ll be careful, Frank – for you,” she says, tapping my nose.

I smile back. “Right, well, good luck.” I give her a quick kiss.

Jenny frowns at me. “Honestly, Frank. You call that a good luck kiss?”

Before I can say anything, Jenny grabs me and kisses me full on the lips, her tongue probing deeply, exploring my entire mouth. The team are giggling and wolf-whistling but I try to ignore them, though I know I’m blushing!

“Now _that_ is a good luck kiss,” says Jenny, as she releases me.

“W-wow…” I breathed with a lopsided grin.

“Well, I better get going. See you later.” Jenny enters the lift. “By the way, Frank… that shade of red really suits you.”

I frown in confusion as the lift doors close. I go to the lab and take out a mirror from the drawer. When I hold up the mirror, my eyes widen when I see that red lipstick is smudged all over my lips. But then I do a double take and check myself out in the mirror, pouting as I do so.

“Huh…” I murmur. “Wow, this shade of red really does suit me.” I go red again and clear my throat, immediately regretting saying that sentence. I get tissue to wipe the lipstick off my lips. Then I pull out some technological pieces and start working on another gadget.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Look – there’s the institute!” says Carrie, pointing when we arrive less than ten minutes later.

I look below. The building is a noticeable big, white and cube-shaped building – and it’s teamed with heavily guarded men.

“The institute is crawling with security guards,” Oscar points out. “Where are we going to land?”

After a few seconds looking, Rose points to a secluded spot near the main building. “There are no security men guarding that place. We can land there,” she says.

We land where Rose suggested. We keep to the edge of the building. I poke my head to see if the guards saw us. No – their backs are to us.

“Well, it’s obvious we can’t walk into the institute dressed like this,” I say, turning back to the team. “We’ll have to go in disguise.”

“Four black scary security uniforms coming right up,” Carrie says, and then she uses her watch to change into a black woolly beanie hat and a stiff black uniform. Then the rest of us do the same. “Right, let’s go.”

“Er, Carrie,” says Oscar. “You seem to be forgetting that we have no idea what we’re supposed to be looking for in the institute. We don’t even know which room the intruder broke into.”

“Actually, we do,” says Rose.

“Huh?” We turn to her.

“Before we landed, I took an aerial shot of the institute with my Spy-Pod and according to the schematics, thermal imaging, X-ray detectors and a trail of destroyed security cameras, the intruder broke into sector 22F, level eight on the west wing of the facility.”

We stare at Rose as she grins at us.

“Right, well, you better lead the way, then,” I say, stepping aside to let Rose lead us to the room.

We follow her into the facility, enter the elevator to level eight and after advancing through the corridors we find the room that we’re looking for – only for it to be guarded by two security men. We retreat back to the corner that we turned, our backs pressed against the wall.

“What now?” Carrie asks.

I peak my head to the guards. “I’ve got an idea,” I say, turning back to the team. “Rose, give me the Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray.” She hands me the bottle. “Right. You guys stay here and keep watch. Activate cloaking device.”

After my body turns invisible, I turn the corner again and walk down the corridor to the security guards. Removing the lid from the perfume, I spray a sparkling red fragrance from the bottle at the guards. As soon as they breathe in the scent, they become paralyzed, making them unable to move their bodies. I wave my hands right in front of their faces to make sure that the perfume works. The men don’t blink.

I smile. “Looks like it works, then,” I say. I whistle for the others. “You can come out now.”

Rose, Carrie and Oscar come out from the corner as I deactivate the cloaking device and my body becomes visible.

“Nice work,” says Carrie. She blows out her cheeks and makes silly faces at the guards. They remain standing still, straight-faced.

Carrie giggles.

“Well, that’s them sorted,” says Oscar. “But how are we getting in?”

“With this,” I say, waving a passcard that I took from one of the guards in front of the three spies. I swipe the card in the reader. The reader gives a _beep_ as it flashes green, signalling us access to the room.

I enter the room, with the three spies following behind, carefully clicking the door behind us so as not to alert the other guards in the area. We start feeling around in the darkness, feeling for the light switch.

A few seconds later, the light clicks on, thanks to Oscar. We look round. It looks like that we’re in the archives facility of the institute. The room is about the size of a two-car garage, with a high ceiling. The shelves are filled with archive boxes that are full of research and other information regarding the institute’s work.

“So, the person who came broke into the institute came in here,” says Rose. “Question is what were they after?”

“That’s what we’re about to find out,” I say. “Let’s split up and see what we can find.”

Oscar and Carrie take the aisle on the left while Rose and I take the aisle on the right. Walking side by side, Rose and I walk down the long, wide aisle to see if the intruder left anything behind. I stop at a shelf and pulling out an archive box, I open it to go and look through the files about the employees’ research and notes and stuff.

But I can’t make head or tails about the research as I leaf through the pages. There are so many equations, calculations and scientific words in the files that it’s making my head hurt.

“Hey, Jen! Over here!” Rose calls.

I place the file back in the archive box and the box on the shelf and hurry over to her at the back end of the room.

“Look what I’ve found,” says Rose. She holds up a long strand of red hair.

“Good job, Rose,” I say. “Let me scan this and send it to Frank for analysis.” I use the projector slot on the digital watch face of the watch communicator to read the hair. Then I send the information to Frank.

“Hey, look up there,” says Rose, pointing.

I look up on the shelf and high above us – near to the ceiling – is a gap between two boxes.

“Either the intruder is ten feet tall or they have wings to fly up there and get the file because the ladder is by the door and they didn’t use it,” I say, placing my hands on my hips. “I wonder what they want with an employee’s file.”

“Maybe they’re working for SKUL and the Grandmaster wanted someone to steal secret important regarding the institute’s work that could be beneficial to him,” Rose assumes. “Something that could bring the whole world to ransom.”

“Hm, maybe. We’ll just have to find out when we get our hands on them. Come on, let’s get Oscar and Carrie and get out of here.”

Rose and I make our way back to the door where Oscar and Carrie are already waiting for us. The four of us head out of the storage room and down the hall we came from.

“Er, guys?” says Oscar. “Wasn’t there two security guards standing outside the storage room?”

The girls and I turn to the storage room door to see that Oscar’s right – there’s no-one there!

“Where did they go?” Rose asks.

An alarm starts to blare.

“Probably to do that,” says Carrie.

Suddenly, guards armed with security assault rifles begin to appear.

“Looks like we’ve outstayed our welcome,” I say. “Run!”

All four of us take off, running through the maze of corridors at top speed. Stupid Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray that lasts for five minutes! I hope Frank kept the receipt on that.

We hare down the corridor. We turn a corner – more guards have arrived.

“Ah!” I exclaim. I quickly spray the Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray at the guards, freezing them on the spot.

And then I turn and run again, with the others following behind. But as we charge down the corridor, even more guards come into sight.

“Uh-oh!” says Carrie.

“Go back the way we came!” Oscar tells us.

We turn to make a quick exit, but a large group of security guards show up. We turn the other way to see a swarm of guards coming from the other direction, trapping us.

“We’re completely surrounded,” says Rose as we back up against the wall.

My eyes dart to the guards coming over to us. I spot the emergency exit light sign on the far end of the corridor, straight ahead. I look down at the Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray and then to the guards. It’s just a chance – but anything’s better than being turned into Swiss cheese!

“Guys, I have an idea,” I say. “For this, you may wanna take a deep breath and hold your nose.”

“Why?” Oscar asks.

“I’m gonna smash the bottle to stun all the guards surrounding us. As soon as I do that, head straight for the fire exit at the end of the corridor. And remember – try not to breathe. OK, ready?”

Rose, Oscar and Carrie nod – then they take a huge breath and hold their noses. I do the same. I smash the bottle on the ground and it shatters into pieces, releasing a blanket of red fragrance that paralyzes the guards.

The team and I immediately take off, rushing and elbowing our way through the huge group of incapacitated security men while at the same time trying our best not to breathe in the scent of the Immobilizing Perfume Stun Spray. After we push our way through the crowd of burly guards, the team and I head rush towards the fire exit, and then we gasp for breath as we enter the staircase.

“That… was well scary,” says Carrie, her breathing returning to normal. “I felt as if my lungs would burst.”

Soon, we can hear voices coming from the staircase a couple of floors below us – and stomping feet.

The guards are still after us.

“Come on,” I say. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

We start running up the staircase. Up and up and up until we find ourselves at the door with the green exit sign above it at the top of the stairs. The spies and I push through to the roof of the institute. Once outside, we quickly change back into our spy suits.

Heavy footsteps sound behind us as we activate our Jetpack Backpacks. Then we leap into the air and take off – just as the guards burst through the door.

“Later, losers!” I call to the guards on the roof as we fly away. I let out a sigh. “Wow. I thought we would never get away from…”

Something whistles past me, narrowing missing my head.

“Hey!”

Looking behind, I can see from the roof of the institute that the guards are taking aiming and shooting at us.

“Look out – whoa!” Carrie yells as she backflips in the air, arching out of the way of a passing bullet.

“We need to go higher!” Rose tells us after she ducks her head from another bullet.

We do she says and fly higher to avoid the bullets. Suddenly an explosion sounded – followed by a scream.

“GYAAAAAA!”

“Oscar!” Rose and Carrie cry.

I look down wide-eyed as Oscar falls through the air, heading to the streets below. The right wing of his Jetpack Backpack is riddled with bullet holes.

“ _AAAHHHH!_ ” Oscar yells as he continues to plummet.

“Oscar!” I shoot downwards like an eagle diving for fish, desperate to reach him before he hits the ground. Down and down until my arms reach out and I wrap them around him, catching him just a few hundred feet from the ground. “Gotcha!” I say, and I pull him up.

“Blimey, that was close,” Oscar says breathlessly.

“You can say that again,” I reply. “A few more seconds and you would’ve been a splattered pizza!”

“Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem.” I hold onto him tightly, my arms right round him as we catch up to Rose and Carrie.

“Oscar – thank God you’re all right,” says Rose, heaving a huge sigh of relief.

“Yeah, you gave us a right scare,” agreed Carrie.

“Sorry about that, girls,” says Oscar.

“Right,” I say, “now that that’s all over, let’s get back to St Hope’s. I have an engagement party to attend to.”

We fly off again, heading back to St Hope’s – with my arms wrapped around Oscar.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I’ve been clearing leaves from the playground for about fifteen minutes now. I’ve finished analysing the hair sample that Jen sent to me and I needed to make myself busy until she and the others come back. It’s a sunny but brisk morning with white fleecy clouds high in the sky.

Before I go back to the leaves, I hear a noise overhead. I look up at the sky, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, and see three figures descending to the playground.

It’s Rose, Carrie and Jenny – and she’s carrying Oscar! I wonder whatever for? My question is soon answered when they land not far from where I am and I notice holes in Oscar’s backpack. I scurry over to them.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Well the Globodex Welcoming Committee weren’t so welcoming when they found out what we were doing,” says Jenny, changing back to her normal clothes. Rose, Carrie and Oscar do the same.

“Not content with chasing us out of the institute, they were trying to shoot us out of the sky,” says Carrie. “They almost did so with Oscar. If it wasn’t for Jen…”

“Let’s not even go there,” says Rose. “Let’s just be glad that she reached him in time.”

“I agree,” says Oscar. “Thanks again, Jen.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Here” – Jenny unslings her backpack and hands it to Oscar – “Take my backpack. I’ll use my Rocket Go-Go Boots to get by.”

Oscar smiles as he gratefully takes the backpack. This is one of the many reasons why I love Jenny and want to marry her – she’s sweet, generous and she puts others first before herself.

“Frank?”

I snap back to the present, aware that Jenny and the others are watching me. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you got a hit on the hair sample that I sent you,” says Jenny. “Or were you too busy thinking of me wearing sexy lingerie.”

I can feel my cheeks burning as she impishly grins at me while Carrie, Oscar and Rose try to stifle their giggles. I wasn’t even thinking about Jenny in lingerie but now that she’s mentioned it, my brain can help but project an image of her in a black satin bra and knickers ensemble trimmed with black lace and pale blue bows, black stockings and garters, and three-inch black stilettos…

“There you are!” says a voice, disrupting my fantasy. I turn to see Mrs King coming up to us. “I’ve been looking for you and Jenny everywhere. Where have you been?”

“Well, uh… Umm…” I turn to Jenny to see if she can come up with something.

“Errrr, errrr…” is all she can say.

“Oscar, Rose and I were keeping Frank and Jenny busy while you and everybody else were setting up the hall for the party, Mrs King,” Carrie interjects. “Weren’t we, guys?”

“Oh yes, Miss,” Rose and Oscar say, nodding.

“Ah. Thank you for doing so,” says Mrs King. “Anyway, we’ve finished decorating, so if you’d like to follow me.”

Mrs King turns and walks back to the school. Jenny and I follow behind – as do Rose, Carrie and Oscar. Jenny takes hold of my hand and she smiles up at me sweetly. I smile back. I hear whispering behind me – then the spluttering of laughter. Probably because of what happened earlier before Mrs King came along. It’s Jenny’s fault for putting that image in my head. I can still picture her looking striking and sassy in scantily clad underwear. It’s making me delirious with desire. Maybe during the party, Jen and I could slip away to the stationery cupboard and maybe we could…

“Surprise!”

I nearly jump a mile as my fantasy is ruined once again. This time by the students and Mr. Flatley as they blow on their party horns and pull the strings from their party poppers, decorating Jenny and me with the streamers that were inside.

“Oh wow, guys. Thanks,” says Jenny, removing some streamers from her head. “And I love what you’ve done with the place!”

There’s a row fairy lights against the wall around the hall and a large table with lots of snacks, sweets and fizzy drinks. It makes me wonder how they arranged everything so quickly.

“Come on, Jen,” says Avril. “You have to tell us the night that Frank proposed to you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Davina. “We want _details_!”

She and Avril take each of Jenny’s hands and take her to the middle of the hall to tell her story. Everyone follows and crowds around Jenny, leaving me, Rose, Oscar and Carrie standing by the door.

“So no-one wants to hear my side of the story?” I say sarcastically.

“I would,” says Carrie.

“Later, Carrie,” says Rose. “Frank still hasn’t told us whether he has something on the hair sample.”

“Ah yes, I almost forgot about that – what with everything that’s happened within the last few minutes,” I say.

The team and I get into a little huddle in the corner of the hall.

“So, what have you got, Frank?” Oscar asks.

“After analysing the hair sample, I’ve found out that the person who broke into the institute was someone who used to work there,” I tell the team. “Her name is Professor Catty Felyne – a research scientist at Globodex who was involved in valuable genetic research. However, her funding was running out, and she was unable to perform proper experiments.”

“So, what happened to her?” Rose asks.

I shrug. “No-one’s heard or seen her within the last two months,” I say.

“But why would she break into the institute?” says Carrie. “Surely it would have been better just to ask for the file she wanted rather than just steal it.”

“Maybe she stole the file so she can continue her research,” Oscar suggests.

“Or maybe she stole the file for the Grandmaster,” says Rose. “Maybe it’s secret information which could be very useful to him. Something that could bring Britain – or even the world – to its knees.”

“We need to find her and stop her,” says Carrie.

“I can use my Spy-Pod to get an address.” Rose immediately takes out her Spy-Pod and gets to work.

Soon, Jenny catches up to us.

“Sorry about that, guys,” she says. “It’s so hard when you’re popular to get away from people. Anyway, what have I missed?”

“The person who stole the file from the institute is a former employee – Professor Catty Felyne,” says Oscar.

“I’ve got an address on her,” says Rose. “According to my Spy-Pod, Professor Felyne lives at 49 Bridle Road, Croydon, Surrey.”

“Well, let’s get going!” says Carrie, bold as ever.

“Easy for you to say,” says Jenny. “How am we supposed to get away from Aunt Hermione?”

We have a think.

“I think I may have an idea,” says Oscar. “Just give me a sec.”

 Oscar dashes out of the hall. What is he up to?

Suddenly, an alarm starts ringing, bellowing its high-pitched ringing through hall and the entire school. It’s the fire alarm!

“OK, everyone, that’s the fire alarm!” says Mrs King. “Please evacuate the building in a calm and orderly manner.”

Rose, Carrie, Jenny and I follow everyone out of the hall to the playground. Oscar is waiting for the girls outside the school.

“You better get going before you get called back in,” I say.

“But what are you gonna tell Aunt Hermione?” Jenny asks.

“I’ll think of something. I am a scientist, after all.”

Jenny gives my hand a squeeze, and then she rushes over to Oscar – Rose and Carrie too.

“I’m just gonna see if it’s safe to go back into school,” I say to Mrs King.

“Uh-huh,” she says dismissively as she taking the register.

I run back into school and head to the storage cupboard. Upon entering, I pull the lever and the lift takes me down to HQ. As soon as I get there, I head for the lab and search through the drawer to find the gadget that I need.

“There you are,” I say, taking the small box from the drawer. I open it to see if it’s what I want. And it is – the Hologram Projecting Earrings. But rather than being black heart-shaped stun earrings, this one is a diamond earstud. I made the Hologram Projecting Earrings for both male and female agents. I take one of the earstuds and attach it to my ear. Then I exit out of HQ.

After I leave the cupboard, I rush down the corridor and out to the playground.

“I’ve finished checking around, Mrs K,” I say to Mrs King. “It’s all right to go back into the school.”

But Mrs King is looking fidgety. “Oh Frank, you haven’t seen Jenny while you were in there? I can’t see her out here. I can’t see Rose Gupta, Oscar Cole and Carrie Stewart either.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn up somewhere.” I tug at my ear and seconds later, holographic versions of Jenny, Rose, Oscar and Carrie come out of the school. “Look – there they are, Mrs K.”

“What were you four doing inside the school while the fire alarm was going off?” Mrs King asks them crossly.

“Sorry, Auntie,” says Holographic Jenny calmly. “But when I didn’t see Rose, Oscar and Carrie out here, I went back in to see what happened to them.”

“That was very dangerous of you to go back into school. That could have been a real fire in there. You could have been hurt! Luckily, it’s a false alarm and I’m glad that you’re OK. The same goes for you three. But don’t ever pull that kind of stunt again. Understand?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

“Yes, Mrs King,” says Holographic Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

“Good.” Mrs King turns to the crowd. “Now that it’s safe to go back into school, we can carry on with the party,” she announces. “Come on!”

She leads everyone back into school. The holograms and I follow along. That was close. I only just managed to get away with replacing the team and Jenny with holograms. I hope the real Rose, Oscar, Carrie and Jenny can stop Professor Felyne before someone figures out that the holograms aren’t even flesh and blood.

Not that they could, anyway.


	40. The Catty Professor

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The team and I arrive at Professor Felyne’s house about twenty minutes later. But when we land outside her gate, a little doubt creeps into my mind as we stare at the double-fronted detached bungalow.

It looks messy – not to mention kind of… empty. The old tiles on the roof are stained, chipped or missing. One of the windows is cracked while another is boarded over. And as for the front lawn… the lawn is medium-sized and desolate and overgrown, with weeds and grass that badly need to be mowed.

“The house is so run-down,” I murmur.

“Er, Rose? Are you sure this is the right place?” Carrie asks.

“I’m positive,” she replies. “She has no forwarding address. And all her relatives have either passed away or live aboard.”

“What about her friends?” Oscar asks.

Rose shakes her head. “She doesn’t have any. She usually keeps to herself.”

“Well, this makes our jobs easier,” I say. “Right, let’s get this over with.”

I reach out to open the gate… only for it to hang off from its hinges and fall to the ground. I let out a sigh of annoyance but the team and I go through the gate and walk down the stony path, and we struggle through the weeds and tall grasses that seem to cling onto us, struggling our way to the front door.

I start to knock on the door but, to my surprise, see that it’s open a few inches. I peer in through the crack. It’s dark inside.

I push the front door open a bit wider. The door squeaks as I push it. I step into the hall. The team follow and Rose shuts the door behind her. We’re standing in the small hallway where there are lots of photographs of cats hanging on both sides of the walls – bicolour cats, black cats, calico cats, tabby cats, tortoiseshell cats, and kittens. On their own or in a group, each one framed.

“OK,” Carrie says slowly. “It’s obvious that we’re dealing with a…” She makes a circling motion of her index finger at her head signifying that Professor Felyne has a screw loose.

“What makes you think she’s crazy?” Rose asks. “Maybe she likes pictures of cats.”

“Whatever.”

“Let’s, er, let’s just see what we can find,” I say.

We split up to explore the bungalow. I head to the dining room on my right. One of the windows is boarded up and the curtains to the other is drawn so it’s quite dark in the room, but I can still see that it’s furnished with a table made of polished wood with six chairs arranged along the sides and ends of the table, and a display cabinet, all very expensive-looking.

I leave the dining room and enter the kitchen opposite. This room is brighter since the sun is pouring in through the window.

My eyes light upon the sink, piled high with dirty, white china dishes and bowls. Then I see bags and bags of dry cat food and an excessive amount of canned cat food and tuna on the counter. I go over to the fridge and open it, and I find that it’s filled with cartons of milk and bottles of whipped cream.

“OK – weird,” I say, closing the fridge.

Then I quickly walk through the short hallway and into the bedroom, where Rose is. The room has cream-coloured walls and a mid-grey carpet. There’s a large wardrobe in one corner next to a small, expensive-looking table and chair and there is a double bed against the opposite wall, covered with the thickest duvet I have ever seen. Then I see the posters on the wall. Hello Kitty. Tom Cat from _Tom & Jerry_. Sylvester from the Looney Tunes cartoons. Garfield. Even Nyan Cat!

“Still don’t think she’s crazy?” I ask Rose as she stares.

“Maybe… maybe she’s just getting in touch with her inner child,” she tries to explain.

“Uh-huh. Let’s go and get the others.”

Rose and I leave the bedroom to find Oscar in the study nearby. The room is the size of a box, containing a desk with a lamp, a swivel chair, a computer, a bookshelf, a brown couch, and a drawing board. Oscar is searching through the books and paperwork to see what he can find.

“Anything?” Rose asks.

“Nothing,” says Oscar, shaking his head. “I hacked into her computer, but Professor Felyne seems to have deleted everything. The only things there are pictures and videos of cats.”

“There’s nothing in the longue either,” says Carrie, coming up to us from behind. “Other than the pictures of cats hanging on the wall, the porcelain figurines of cats and the stone ornaments of cats in the garden…”

“OK, OK!” says Rose, admitting defeat. “It… it may be obvious that Professor Felyne is a little bit obsessed with cats…”

“A little bit? The woman is crazy for cats! She’s a crazy cat lady. Her surname is even called feline – except the ‘i’ is a ‘y’. I’m surprised that she’s not living in Catford.”

“Look, rather than standing here talking about Professor Felyne’s fascination about cats, we should head back to HQ and figure out where else she could be,” says Oscar.

“Oscar’s right,” I say. “The sooner we find her, the sooner we can stop her from giving the Grandmaster the file that she stole.”

As we walk out of the study and head for the front door, a thought occurs to me.

“Doesn’t it seem strange that she loves cats yet I haven’t seen one around?” I ask. “I was in the kitchen earlier and there is enough cat food and milk and whipped cream to feed all the cats in this town and the next – but there is no cat flap in the side door by the window, or cat bowls for that matter.”

“Maybe she’s allergic to them,” says Rose.

“Maybe.” Though I’m not entirely convinced.

“Hey, guys! Check this out!” Carrie calls.

We take a few steps backwards to see her standing in front of an open cupboard… that has a secret staircase!

“How this you find this place, Carrie?” Oscar asks.

“I saw that the door was slightly open so I went to investigate,” she explains. “Then when I found out it was just an ordinary cupboard, I leaned back against the wall, and the floor in the cupboard slid back, revealing the staircase.”

Rose goes to the framed photo of a cat and her kittens and removes the picture… to reveal a red control switch in the wall.

“The secret passage must have been used as a bomb shelter during the Second World War,” she deduces.

“You don’t suppose Professor Felyne’s hiding down there, do you?” says Carrie, pointing to the opening in the cupboard floor.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, and walk down the stony staircase. The team follow close behind me. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, we find something that takes us by surprise.

It’s a lab! A secret lab – located under Professor Felyne’s bungalow. The lab features all the technological pieces, the heart of the laboratory. There’s a work station and some computers, and a table with various chemicals and paperwork on it. The room also includes a bookshelf, a desk with a lamp, and some whimsical chairs such as an animal-print ottoman, topped with a fuchsia faux-fur cover, a shoe-shaped chair and a lip-shaped chaise. A large barred cage is at the back of the room. Hanging from the ceiling is a large lamp.

The team follow me into the room. We glance around over every object, every piece of furniture.

“Can you believe this?” says Oscar.

“I think we’ve found where Professor Felyne’s being hiding,” I say.

Rose makes her way to the table examining the chemicals in their test tubes and beakers. She looks over at the paperwork. “Guys, look at this,” she says.

We hurry over to her.

“What is it?” I ask.

“This is the file that Professor Felyne stole last night,” says Rose. “Look – there’s the corporate design on the letterhead.” She points to the heading at the top of the paper she’s holding.

Carrie takes one of the papers to see for herself. “I wonder what Professor Felyne was working on?”

“Something that’s gonna change the world – and not in a good way.”

“Hey, take a look at this,” says Oscar. He shows us a photograph that has been crumpled up. The face is scribbled all over with a pen, but I can still make out the features.

The photograph is of a plain-looking woman in her thirties with healthy looking and slightly freckled skin, and light brown eyes. She has thick reddish-brown hair that reaches to her lower shoulders styled in a low braid and tied with black ribbons. The woman is wearing a white lab coat, a pink blouse and black cerebral round glasses.

“That must be Professor Felyne,” I realise.

“She’s a bit of a nerdy Plain Jane, isn’t she?” says Carrie. “Sorry, sorry!” she hurriedly adds when Rose shoots her a fierce look.

“I wonder why she scribbled her own photograph,” I puzzle.

As I speak, we hear something flit across the room behind us.

“What was that?” Oscar asks.

We whirl around but there’s no-one there!

“Do you ever get that creepy feeling that we’re being watched?” says Carrie.

We hear the something growling.

We freeze.

We hear the click of claws on the floor.

The team and I go into fighting poses, ready to take down whoever it is creeping up on us.

With a mew, the creature springs through the darkness. We glimpse black fur, golden eyes, pointed ears and a long tail.

“Nya,” the creature mews.

“A cat!” Rose points out in a whisper. “It’s just a cat!”

We relax our bodies and utter a relieved sigh. Only a cat.

“Thank God for that, eh?” I say, shaking my head and raising a hand to my heart.

“Nyaoo!” the cat meows.

“Aw, it’s so cute!” says Carrie. She goes over to the cat and crouches down. “Hello, kitty kitty. Aren’t you adorable?”

The cat meows in response. Suddenly the cat opens its mouth and releases a pale tan-coloured mist from its mouth at us.

“Hey, what the… h-hell…?” I suddenly feel faint. My legs turn to jelly and begin to buckle. I drop to my knees and fall to the ground with a thud. I hear the others drop to ground with a dull, heavy sound.

As I feel myself drifting off, the last thing I see is a pair of legs stepping out of the shadows. And even though my vision is blurry, I see that the legs look furry – and orange.

That is… so… weird…

xxoOoxx

“Urrrnn…” I come to. Or do I? I don’t know whether I’m awake or asleep now. Only that I’m still in Professor Felyne’s underground bunker, in the cage, tied to a post that’s covered in rough material, and it’s itching against my back. “Oh God,” I moan, feeling a bit dizzy.

“Mmm…?”

I glance around to see Rose, Oscar and Carrie are awake – though they look a bit woozy. They too are tied to posts.

“Huh…? What’s going on?” Rose asks groggily.

“Ah, I see that you’re all awake. Nyan,” says a voice.

“All right, Professor, where are you? Show yourself!” Oscar shouts.

“Oooh, aren’t you a bit touchy?” Professor Felyne says mockingly. “But I do love a man who’s feisty and aggressive. You really are the cat’s meow.” The professor steps out of the shadows, holding the black cat that knocked us out in her arms. “As am I. Nyan.”

“Oh, my God,” Rose says in shock – we all are. Her appearance – her physical appearance – is distinctly cat-like.

A thick, sleek coat of orange fur with dark orange stripes covers her entire body. She has pointed ears; sharper-than-normal teeth with pronounced upper and lower canines, eyes that have now gone from brown to green are enlarged irises and vertically slit pupils, and claws on her feet and hands instead of nails. Professor Felyne also has a long tail. Her hair is now loose and hanging over her shoulders, and her clothes are tattered. Her light blue shirt has been converted to a customized crop top, showing off her flat stomach and her black trousers are now a pair of tatty shorts. She’s also not wearing her glasses. She now looks more attractive and feminine than the plain and timid person that I saw in the photograph.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she says. “The name’s Catherine Felyne. My friends call myee Catty. At least they would if I had any friends. And this little fella right here is Mr. Meowington. He’s the sweet little guy that knocked you guys out. Isn’t he a cutie?” Then she starts to cuddle the cat. “Aren’t you a cutie, Mr. Meowington? Yes, you are. Yes, you are. You are, my cute little robot kitty!”

“Prrrr,” the cat purrs.

“Carrie, you were right – Professor Felyne is crazy,” says Rose.

“A crazy cat lady,” Carrie adds.

“You better watch yourself, girlie,” says the professor. “My claws and teeth are sufficiently strong to puncture sheet steel. Imagine what it can do to that pretty face of yours.”

Carrie flashes the professor an angry scowl.

“So, Professor, how did you become this… this… this?” Oscar asks, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“It happened two months ago,” Professor Felyne reveals. “I was a research scientist at Globodex Research Institute, exploring the possibilities of enhancing humyan capabilities with animal characteristics. I was excited by the potential of my research, but without sufficient funding to continue, I was forced to use myself as a test subject, and transformed myself into a humyan-cat hybrid. I hoped to prove the value of my work, but instead made myself an outcast.

“At first I was insecure over my transformation and resented my outcast status… but then over the weeks, I learned that due to genetic alteration of my DNA, I now possess several cat-like abilities. Of these are enhanced strength, speed, and agility. I also possess highly advanced senses. They are about ten times as keen as an average humyan’s, and about five times that of an average cat’s. My eyesight extends into the infrared portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. I have superhumyan visual acuity. My vertically-slit pupils allow a greater range of vision above and below myee, which allows myee to more easily detect the movements of an opponent. With my highly developed sense of smell, I can selectively sort through various odours so as to follow a quarry’s trail. I can detect subtle alterations in the composition of perspiration that reflect mood or emotions, and I’m highly sensitive to pheromones. And my hearing is sufficiently acute as to detect a sound pressure level change from four decibels to six dB at a range of forty feet. You should know that I don’t intend on giving this Grandmaster fellow the formula of the transformation.”

“So what are you going to do?” Rose asks.

“Simple – I intend to release a toxic cloud, causing all humyans to turn to a cat-hybrid, like myee.”

“What?!” we exclaim in disbelief.

“Oh yes, dearies.” The professor uses her tail to grasp one of the round-bottom flasks on the table. The liquid in the flask is purple-blue colour. “And here is the serum that will do the job. I call it the Cat Serum. It may not look much, but when I pour the liquid in my specially designed generator, it will release a gaseous cloud that will turn the humyan race into cat cross-species. Nyan nyan!”

“You’re not gonna get away with this, Professor!” I say.

“Er, I think you’ll find that I am and will. Now if you don’t mind, this little kitty’s gotta make tracks. But not before I leave you with a little playmate.” Professor Felyne picks up a remote control and presses a button. I hear a door opening. I glance around and to my left is not a ‘little playmate’… but a large tiger!

“Argh!” the team cry.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, wide-eyed.

“Grrr,” growls the tiger.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Professor Felyne smirks. She turns and heads for the stairs. Then she stops and adds, “Oh, by the way, I didn’t have time to feed Snagglepuss today. Enjoy.” And with that, Professor Felyne and her robot cat go upstairs and out the house, leaving the team and me with Snagglepuss the tiger.

“Grrr…” Snagglepuss snarls, moving slowly towards us.

“Oh God,” Carrie whispers, “how are we going to get out of this one?”

“I… I have no idea,” Rose whispers back, absolutely terrified. And I can’t blame her. We’re all frozen to the spot.

“Well, we better think of something quick,” Oscar murmurs. “Because I really, _really_ don’t want to be mauled to death by a big, man-eating cat from Bengal.”

I gasp. “Oscar, that’s it!” I say, forgetting to whisper.

“ _GWAH!_ ” Snagglepuss roars, making me jump, but I quickly compose myself.

“Guys, you’ve got to remember that it’s just a cat,” I say quietly. “And do you know what cats like to play with?”

“I think this one wants to play with my throat!” Carrie hisses.

“No – balls!” I reach to one of the cartridges on my utility belt and pour some of the Mini Bombs that Frank gave to me on the start of the mission. Then I gently toss the Mini Bombs at Snagglepuss’ feet.

The tiger stares at the metallic balls for a few moments, and then he starts to fiddle and play with the balls.

“That’s it, Snagglepuss,” I murmur. “Keep playing with the small, exploding balls.”

And that’s what Snagglepuss does. He keeps playing with the balls – until one of the balls hits another and they explode with a loud bang.

“ _GROAR!_ ” the tiger roars loudly.

“I think you’ve made him mad,” says Rose.

And she’s not wrong! Snagglepuss has a menacing look in his eyes. And with an angry snarl, the tiger springs towards us – his outstretched claws reaching for us.

“Aaaggghhh!” the team screams – but I’m not ready to die yet! I throw more of the Mini Bombs at Snagglepuss. They explode like firecrackers against the tiger’s fur.

“ _Roar… Ro-aaa-rrr… Rooo-aaaa-rrrr…_ ” Snagglepuss growls lowly. Then the tiger retreats to the cave that it came out from.

Struggling to catch my breath, I gaze at the cave, wondering if the tiger will come out again. My entire body is trembling. The bunker appears to tilt and sway.

A close one.

“Jenny, you did it! You saved us!” Carrie says triumphantly.

“Yeah – for now,” Oscar says anxiously. “There’s still the matter of getting out of these ropes and out of the cage!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” I extrude the Feline Fight Claws from my right glove and I slice through the ropes – carefully without injuring myself. Once I’m free from my bonds, I free the others using the same tactics – again, carefully without slashing them.

After I free them, I quickly head to the door of the cage and slice the chains. Then I burst out through the cage door. The team are right behind me. Oscar tosses to me a large padlock and I use it to lock the cage.

“Oh, my God,” Carrie says breathlessly. “That was… that was close.”

“ _Too_ close,” Rose adds.

“Right,” I start, “now that we’re officially out of danger, we have to stop Professor Felyne from releasing that chemical cloud – that’s if she hasn’t done it already. Question is where could she be releasing it from?”

“It’ll have to be somewhere with a tall structure,” says Oscar.

“What about the Shard?” Carrie says. “It’s the tallest building in London.”

“Then that’s where we’ll head,” I say. “Let’s roll.”

Rose, Carrie, Oscar and I hurry out of the bunker and out of the house. We activate out jet-propelled accessories and we take off – heading for the Shard.

xxoOoxx

About twenty minutes later we arrive at the Shard. And like Carrie guessed, Professor Felyne is there. We see that she’s making final preparations to the generator. Well I say generator, it’s a fog machine, basically. Anyway as we approach her, the professor’s ears start to swivel. She whirls around. Her eyes widen.

“You!” she cries. “How did you escape Snagglepuss?”

“Like all big cats,” says Carrie as we land, “Snagglepuss just needed a bit of taming.”

Professor Felyne lets out an angry snarl.

“All right, Professor,” I say, pointing at her, “step away from the people-turning-cat-hybrid machine and nobody gets hurt!”

“Never!” she hisses. “In less than ten minutes when I release the gas, I will make all the citizens in London humyan-cat hybrids like myee! Nyan!”

“Fine. Have it your way! Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on, spies, let’s take out this cat monster.”

We hurtle towards the professor, ready to take her out.

Professor Felyne growls. “I’ll teach you to call myee a monster,” she exclaims. “Get them, Mr. Meowington!”

“Nyaaaah!” the cat screeches, springing into action and blocking our path. He pulls back his lips and bares his pointy teeth at us. Suddenly, Mr. Meowington’s eyes flash yellow. He then fires two yellow beams from his eyes at us.

With a gasp, the team and I activate our jetpacks and jump out of the way of the beams. Mr. Meowington continues to shoot beams from his eyes, while we continue to keep dodging them.

“What is it with everyone trying to shoot us down today?!” I cry as I do a flip to avoid another beam being fired at me.

“How are we going to stop this robo-cat?” Oscar asks after he ducks his head. “I don’t think I can keep this up for long!”

“Hey – I think I may have something… whoa!” Carrie assumes a split position while still in the air as a beam goes between her legs. “Jen, do you still have some of the Mini Bombs left?”

“I may have a couple,” I say, and then I leap out of the way from another beam.

“OK, follow my lead. Oi, Meowington – is that the best you’ve got? My grandma can throw better than you – and she’s got arthritis!”

“Yeah, come on, robo-cat! Come up here and show us what you’ve got!” Oscar heckles.

We continue to taunt and jeer at the robot cat with insulting remarks, angering him more and more.

“Don’t listen to them, Mr. Meowington,” says Professor Felyne. “They’re just trying to tick you off!”

But the cat just ignores his mistress’ instructions.

“Come on, you pussy,” I jeer. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!” I blow a raspberry at the cat.

I think I may have hit a sore spot because as I blew the raspberry, the robot cat utters a shrill angry hiss and starts to wall-jump – using the spires as leverage – towards us.

“Stand back, guys. And get ready, Jen,” Carrie instructs.

We do what she says and take a few paces back. I take out the last remaining Mini Bombs and get ready for what Carrie wants me to do. Just then, the cat bounces off the top spire from the building and springs through the air – his outstretched metal claws reaching for Carrie’s throat.

“I can’t watch!” says Rose, covering her eyes.

I can – Oscar too. We watch as the robot cat is a short distance away from Carrie – and she performs a powerful upward kick, sending the droid flying.

“Now!” Carrie tells me.

I throw the Mini Bombs at Mr. Meowington as soon as it falls to my eye level. As the bombs hit the robot cat, they explode with a _boom!_

“No! Mr. Meowington!” I hear Professor Felyne scream as flaming debris fall to the streets below.

“Nice going, Jen,” says Oscar, coming up to me and Carrie.

“It was all Carrie’s idea – you should be thanking her,” I tell him.

“It was nothing,” she says, earning a pat on the back by me and Oscar.

“I hate to break up this party,” Rose interjects, “but we’ve got a crazy cat lady to stop.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” I say. “Let’s do this!”

We land at the top of the building again to face Professor Felyne – and she is furious! She’s breathing hard. Her tail switching back and forth. She gets on all fours, and makes herself appear more impressive and threatening by raising her fur, arching her back, and turning sideways, preparing to spring.

“You little brats are gonna pay for what you did to my pussy!” she snarls.

I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from laughing. You’ve got to admit that what Professor Felyne said is quite funny.

I’m not laughing any more when she springs towards us – but we manage to jump out of the way.

Professor Felyne skids to a halt and letting out a furious hiss, she springs again – this time, towards me. Her claws come out and she’s ready to take a swipe at me, but I suck in my stomach and arch my back upwards, avoiding her sharp claws. She tries again – this time for the face, but I lean back, narrowing missing the tips.

“Now it’s my turn!” I try to swing a punch at her, however she ducks her head and I miss. I swing my fist at her again, but Professor Felyne dodges the punch – again.

“Ergh…!” I launch a flurry of punches which move faster than the eye can see at the professor – but she keeps dodging them.

She’s just too fast for me. Damn her catlike agility and reflexes.

I try once again to swing my arm at her, but Professor Felyne blocks my fist with one hand and uses her other hand to grab my throat and lifts me up. I can feel her claws digging into my neck – that’s gonna leave some marks. I feel like that I’m going to pass out when the professor finally let’s go of me – by tossing me against one of the spires.

“Uhh…” I groan. Even though I’m aching all over and a bit dizzy from almost being choked to death, I manage to get up to see Rose, Oscar and Carrie doing as bad as I was.

They try to throw punches and kicks, but that damned professor keeps dodging or blocking the attacks – all at once! After Professor Felyne knocks the team back, I can see on the teams’ faces that they’re going to attack at once – but the professor has gotten wind of this. As the team go for her, Professor Felyne flips over into a double-handed handstand, and does a split. She then twirls her upside-down body and attacks, with her legs like helicopter blades, kicking Rose, Oscar and Carrie and knocking them to the ground.

“Arrgh! I’ve had just about enough of you, Professor!” Carrie shouts, clearly getting frustrated. She gets up and rushes over to the professor and tries to attack her, but Professor Felyne performs an agile flip over Carrie and attacks her from behind by kicking her in the stomach as soon as she spins around. Then she grabs Carrie and tosses her against the spires not far from where I am.

“Carrie!” I exclaim, rushing over to her.

“I’m OK…” she croaks – even though she’s not.

I look up to see Rose clash with the professor – and she’s bit successful in her attack. She performs a cartwheel kick and uppercuts the professor, knocking her off her feet. Professor Felyne scrambles onto her feet and with an angry hiss; she jumps away from Rose, then kick-jumps from the edge of the roof, launches herself into the air and aims a flying kick at Rose. She then knees Rose in the stomach and performs a spin kick which sends her flying to the spire that I was tossed to.

“I’m coming, Rose!” I say, running over to her. I lift her up and carry her over to Carrie.

After I lay Rose down, I glance up to see Oscar raise his hand, his fist clenching and runs towards Professor Felyne – but she jumps onto him, knocking him to the ground on his back. She then punches him twice, before jumping back up and kicking him in the crotch, sending him sliding across the ground towards me, Rose and Carrie.

“Oh, God! Oscar!” Carrie cries, kneeling beside him.

“Nyaaah, hah-hah-hah-hah!” Professor Felyne laughs. “Face it, you brats can’t defeat myee! So you might as well just give up! Hah-hah-hah, haha, ha, hyaah!”

I kneel beside Oscar. “Oscar. Oscar, are you all right?” I ask – stupid question.

“No,” he squeaks, clutching himself. “She… she’s too fast…”

“Not to mention strong,” Carrie adds. “There’s no way we can keep up with her. We have to find a way to stop her.”

“And quick,” I add. “Before she turns everyone in London into cat people.”

“There may be a way to stop Professor Felyne,” Rose murmurs, staring down at Oscar’s hand. I look down, and see that he’s wearing the Sonic Devastator Mobile Phone Ring.

“Oh!” I suddenly realize. “You mean the…?”

“Shh! Professor Felyne will hear.” Rose says it so quietly that I can barely hear her. “The professor’s hearing is greatly enhanced, allowing her to hear a wider range of frequencies than a normal human as well as clearly hear sounds that would be far too faint for a human to detect.”

“So exposure to intense, high-frequency sounds will be far more painful for the professor than a normal human,” Oscar whispers.

“Exactly.”

“Not us, though,” Carrie says quietly. “Not when we’ll be wearing the… you know.”

“Hmm,” I say. “OK, spies, let’s end this.”

I help Rose onto her feet and Carrie helps Oscar to his. We take out our Sound Dampening Headphones from our backpacks and put them on.

“I see that you brats are thirsty for more of my arse-whooping.” Professor Felyne smirks. “Any last words before I take you down once and for all?”

“Yes – although my last words are actually numbers,” I say. “Six, seven, two.”

The professor frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means this!” Oscar presses the 6, 7, and 2 buttons on the phone ring and stretches his arm out horizontally. Then the ring emits supersonic waves, distorting the air.

“Uhh… what is that?” Professor Felyne (faintly) cries, holding her ears in pain. “Uhhh, it’s deafening…! Stop it, stop it!”

The ring continues to emit an earsplitting screech. Even though, I’m wearing the Sound Dampening Headphones, I can feel the vibrations of the phone ring rumble like a tumble dryer through me. I turn to the fog machine that Professor Felyne set up shatter and smash into smithereens – along with the liquid formula inside.

I turn back to Oscar and tug his jacket. I signal for him to turn off the Sonic Devastator Mobile Phone Ring.

As Oscar switches off the phone ring, Professor Felyne staggers backwards – towards the edge of the roof!

“Uh-oh…” says Oscar.

“Get her!” Rose tells us.

We run over to the professor to pull her in, but…

“Unnnh…” Professor Felyne moans as she loses consciousness… and falls off the building!

“Oh no!” Carrie cries.

“I’ve got this!” I take off my Sound Dampening Headphone and I jump off the roof and dive down towards Professor Felyne. While diving, I activate my Rocket Go-Go Boots and I force myself to swoop down at the professor at a fast speed. I keep going until I’m close enough to the professor and I seize her in my arms, catching her ‘bride over the threshold’ style. After I catch her, I skid to a halt mid-air and I shoot upwards, carrying the professor to the roof.

“Phew!” says Rose when I land. “Thank goodness, you caught Professor Felyne.”

“That’s the second time you caught someone falling from the sky,” says Carrie.

“Just call me Supergirl,” I say with a smile.

After we have a good laugh, the team and I take Professor Felyne and the ruined machine down to the bottom of the Shard.

Fifteen minutes later, an MI9 van arrives at our location to take (the still unconscious) Professor Felyne and the machine away. Though the professor is unconscious, the agents place steel restrains on her, get her in the van and drive off.

“Well, other than the disoriented, nauseated and unconscious people within a one mile radius and millions of pounds worth of windows shattered, I’d say it’s mission accomplished,” I say.

“One of the agents said that the scientists at MI9 will work on an antidote to turn Professor Felyne back into a human again,” Rose tells us. “He’s also sending some agents to the professor’s house to collect and seal away her formula so she or anyone else can’t ever use it.”

“That’s a relief,” says Carrie. “Anyway, now that we’ve saved London once again, how about we get back to St Hope’s and par-tay?”

“Yeah… I don’t know about you, Carrie, but after the beating I got from Professor Cat Woman, I’ve decided that I might give the party a miss,” says Oscar.

“Me too,” says Rose. “I’m too exhausted.”

“As am I – not to mention battered and bruised,” I agreed. I let out a yawn and stretch. I wince as I’m sore all over. “I wonder what excuse Frank told Aunt Hermione about our absence.”

“He could’ve used the Hologram Projecting Earrings and created holographic versions of us,” says Oscar.

“So the holograms are having a better time at the party than we are – and _we_ only lasted five minutes. Oh well, let’s get back to school and nurse our injuries.”

After we activate our Jetpack Backpacks – and my Rocket Go-Go Boots – we shoot up to the skies and head back to St Hope’s.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been nearly an hour since I spoke to Jenny and the team. I hope they’re all right. Of course they’re all right – they’re spies after all. Still, I better contact them to make sure. I slip away quietly out of the hall and head for the broom cupboard.

Besides, I’m getting quite bored of standing around while everyone is having a good time. I mean, the party isn’t all that bad – Mr. Flatley is inventing a whole new dance style of his own and even Mrs King is lightening up. Maybe it’s because Jenny isn’t by my side. The holographic version of Jenny is here, but she’s not really _my_ Jenny, is she?

Anyway, after I reach the storage cupboard, run my thumbprint on the panel and enter the cupboard, I pull the mop handle and let the lift take me down to HQ. But when the doors roll open and I exit the elevator, I’m startled to see Oscar, Carrie and Rose are in HQ – sitting by the computers, looking a bit exhausted.

Oscar is the first to see me. “Oh, hey, Frank,” he says.

Rose and Carrie look up. “Hi,” they say.

“Team… you’re back,” I say, walking up to them.

“Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago,” says Rose.

“Sorry we didn’t tell you when we got back,” says Carrie. “But Professor Felyne gave us a right beating, so we’ve being relaxing and licking our wounds down here. Don’t worry; the professor is in MI9 custody.”

“Oh, OK.” Then it comes to me. “Um, where’s Jenny?”

“I swear to God, there isn’t enough concealer in the world to cover up what Professor Crazy Cat Lady did to my neck!”

I spin around. Jenny has just come from the interrogation room and is checking the reflection of her neck in her compact. The sides of her neck are covered with small, white dressing.

“I think I’ve got all the bruises all covered up,” she says. She gets a glimpse at me. “Oh!  Hi, there. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Jen.” I go over to her. I examine her neck. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Nah – it just stings. Still, I’d rather have this then become some bizarre cat-human hybrid.”

At my puzzling look, Rose explains that Professor Felyne was going to turn London into cat people by releasing a chemical cloud after she self-experimented on herself and mutated into a half-human-half-cat hybrid.

“Luckily, we stopped Professor Felyne’s plans with the help of the Sonic Devastator Mobile Phone Ring,” Oscar finishes.

“Well done, team. Good job,” I say.

“So…” Carrie starts, “how’s the party while we’ve been away?”

“Hmmmm,” I say thoughtfully. “To be honest, it was quite boring, really.”

“Oi,” says Jenny, giving me a poke in the arm. “You better not say that to Aunt Hermione. She worked really hard organizing it.”

“I mean, it was boring without you.”

“It was boring without me? How could it be? You had someone that looked like – or in any case, _was_ me – at the party.”

“Yeah… but she’s not as remarkable as you.”

“Oh.” Jenny starts to play with the lapels of my jacket. “Is that so?”

“I know so.” I slip my arm around her waist and pull her against me. I lean close, and I’m about to kiss her…

“Ahem!”

I stop. For a moment I forgot that Rose, Oscar and Carrie are still here. Jenny and I turn to find Carrie watching us with a look of glee in her eyes. Rose is sitting with her arms folded and a cocked eyebrow, and Oscar is making mock vomit-noises – but I know he’s only teasing.

“We are still here, you know,” says Rose.

“Unfortunately,” Jenny mutters, pulling away from me. Then she says, “So I take it you’re not going back upstairs to the party.”

“No,” I say.

“And I don’t feel like going upstairs to party,” says Oscar.

The others murmur in agreement.

“So what are going to do for the next couple of hours?” Rose asks.

We ponder.

“Ooh, ooh, I know!” Carrie says excitedly. “We can have our own little party right here!”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” says Jenny.

Everyone is keen on the idea.

“Great! I’ll get some drinks.”

Carrie goes to the lab with get some drinks from the fridge, with the hell of Jenny. They come back a few minutes later, Carrie carrying a tray with fives glasses of Coca-Cola. We each take a glass. After takes her glass, she sets the tray on the workstation.

“To Frank and Jenny: You are two very special people who have the good fortune of having found each other. May you share exquisite happiness together all the day of your lives,” says Carrie, raising her glass.

“Aaah!” says Jenny. I wrap my arm around her. She fits snugly under my armpit.

“Hear, hear,” says Rose and Oscar. Then we clink our glasses and take a sip of our beverages.

“Hey,” says Carrie after sipping her drink, “you wouldn’t mind telling us the story about how you proposed, Frank. I’ve been waiting, like, all day to hear it.”

“Sure,” I say, and I take a seat by the workstation. Jenny is by my side, leaning on the table. And Carrie sits on the floor. After everyone gets comfortable, I begin to tell the team about my proposal that happened over the weekend.


	41. The MI9 Christmas Party

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Today is the last day of school before the Christmas holidays. Today is pretty hectic. But it’s fun too, as the Year Elevens are putting on a special entertainment show. They have been practising for two weeks and they’ll be performing their talents of singing, dancing, acrobatics, acting, drumming, martial arts, playing an instrument, or other activities to showcase their skills.

Backstage is filled with frantic activity. There’s a cacophony of sound and chatter as the musicians are tuning up their instruments, practising and discussing their numbers. The singers are rehearsing their songs. The actors are pacing up and down, practising their lines, and the dancers are going over their routines. I run my eye down the long list, checking that everything is in order – and it looks like it is after I finish ticking off the items from the list. I head over to the stage. The curtain is closed, but I can hear the steady rumble of voices out in the hall. I peek out of the side of the curtain. Every seat is filled. Everyone in the audience is ready to see the show. Let’s hope the performers are ready too.

I back away from the curtains and return backstage. “Places! Places, everyone!” I call.

The first act takes their places at the side of the stage. The lights begin to dim. I hear the audience instantly becoming silent. The stage lights go up. The music starts. When the curtain opens, and the audience applauds the set, the first act step out on-stage and start to perform.

The talent show has started!

xxoOoxx

The variety show is a major success! The curtains close, muffling the excited cheers of the audience. They had a great time. They loved it – falling about laughing at the seriously rude jokes and applauding several times. The performers did really well. They did so well that I produce a big carrier bag and I give everyone a little chocolate Santa.

“Well done, everyone! You were all terrific!” I say as I hand the Santa chocolates to every single person.

Most of the others chomp up their chocolate straight away, a gulp of bearded head, a gollop of tummy, a crunch of boots and he’s gone. Davina wraps hers up carefully in a hankie and puts him in her schoolbag.

“For God’s sake, Davina, one little chocolate isn’t going to make you fat,” says Donovan.

“I’m saving him for sentimental reasons, not because I’m trying to get slim,” she says.

I can’t help but overhear. “Oh, go on, Davina. Be a devil,” I say. “Tuck into a few mince pies and the Christmas pud and really let rip this holiday. You can always work it off from those daft, Z-list celebrity exercise DVDs in January.”

After we stack the chairs away and tidy up, everyone exits the hall and goes to the canteen for lunch. It’s a special lunch today, the cook’s traditional Christmas dinner treat for the end of term. Old-fashioned roast turkey with fresh herb stuffing, Granny’s roast potatoes, Brussels sprout mash (two things – one, why, and two, yuck!), and then the classic Christmas pudding with a blob of double cream. We’re talking mega-calories per trayful.

The pungent smell steals along the corridors and invades the hall and just at first my nose twitches, my mouth waters desperately, and my stomach rumbles.

“It sounds as if you’re ready for your lunch,” says a voice – a voice I know all too well.

I whirl around, my face flushing red. Frank is standing at the door with a grin to indicate that he heard my stupid stomach rumble. Thank God he’s by himself – I would have died if anyone was with him and heard it. Frank makes his way over to me while I stand around awkwardly.

“I had a feeling that you may have skipped breakfast this morning and didn’t pick up a snack, so I figure I’d get you this.” Frank holds up a bag.

I take it from him and see what’s inside. My face lights up – it’s a Tupperware container, and inside the container is the roast turkey and stuffing, the roast potatoes and the Christmas pudding.

“I know you absolutely hate Brussels sprouts – even in its mashed form – so I left it out,” says Frank.

“Aw!” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You are an absolute saint, Frank. Thank you.”

“I also wanted to give you this.” He hands me a small white envelope. I open the envelope and pull out the thick, creamy card – but there’s nothing on it!

“Er, its blank,” I point out.

“The card is written with invisible ink,” says Frank. “You need the Spy-Pod to decode it.” He takes out his Spy-Pod from his pocket and separates the two ends of the device to reveal the screen. He hands the device over the card, and I can see the message written on it.

“‘Dear agent, you are cordially invited to an evening of Dinner and Dancing at our annual MI9 Christmas Party. The event will take place on-board the luxury steam yacht, the _St Katherine_ , on Saturday, December 21st at 7:00pm (The yacht will depart at 7:30pm). Temple Pier, Victoria Embankment, London, WC2R 2PN’. Oooh, very fancy!”

“The MI9 Christmas parties are always fancy,” says Frank. “Last year, we had a Great Gatsby-themed party at the castle where they film _Downton Abbey_. And the year before that, the rotating restaurant at the BT Tower was reopened to us only so we could have a dinner party.”

“Wow. Now I’ll be able to celebrate the festive season with you as we’ll be wining and dining and dancing on the River Thames – not to mention seeing great views of the glittering lights of London’s famous landmarks.” I sigh. “What a way to celebrate Christmas. I just hope that no-one isn’t going to knock everyone at the party with a tranquillizer dart, drag me away and try and force my sister’s hand in marriage.”

“They’ll have to get past me if they want to do that,” says Frank. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I’m touched by what he’s said. I give him a warm smile. It’s great having an amazing boyfriend.

I check the invitation again. “They certainly don’t waste any time with the invite, do they? The party is tomorrow night – and I have nothing to wear!”

“You’ve got plenty of dresses at home – you can wear one of those.”

“Frank! You can’t expect me to arrive at an MI9 party wearing just any old thing, do you? I want to make a grand entrance. I want to exude glamour and sophistication in a head-turning evening ensemble. I want to wear a dress that’s so dazzling that it will make the women go green with envy and the men to fall head over heels in love with me and fight over me for a dance…”

Frank raises his eyebrows at me.

“Bu-u-ut when they see me with you, they’ll think that you are one lucky son of a gun and they’ll go green with jealously,” I add. “And you know what they say: behind every great man, there’s a great and _fashionable_ woman.”

“Well, when you put it that way… I’d love to see the look on everyone’s faces when they see me arriving with my arm around you,” says Frank.

“Then it’s settled! After school I’ll go dress shopping…” My tummy suddenly rumbles. “Right after I tuck into some Christmas lunch.”

So after lunch and school is out (as it’s a half day), I head over to Oxford Street to choose a dress. I spend the next few hours scouting the shops, checking out the newest ranges and trying on countless of dresses in search of the perfect one. Many of the dresses I tried on were pretty, but they didn’t have that oomph that is needed. I need a dress that is forever stylish and always stunning. I need something that’ll knock people off their feet.

It’s a just past five o’clock as I wander through Carnaby Street when I see something in small fashion boutique that catches my eye.

The dress is sleek and form-fitting, shining in a luxe metallic gold fabric, with the skirt slitting up at the front. From the golden trim at the halter neck to the floor-length draped hem, this dress delivers drama! This is definitely going to turn heads at the party.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper as I try it on in the changing room. The gold gown clings to every curve of my body and the daring slit rises just above my left knee. It looks incredible – especially on me. I knew I just _have_ to have it.

I don’t intend on showing Frank the dress until the night of the party. But I can tell that he’s curious about it – he tries to sneak a look in the bag when I get back to his (I’m staying there for the weekend), but I playfully slap his wrist. In return, he playfully smacks my arse. I’m able to distract him from further prying by slipping into his arms and pulling him into bed. When we finally get out again two hours later he’s forgotten all about the dress.

For now.

The next morning – the day of the party – I catch him snooping around the inside of the wardrobe where I hid the dress, but I manage to stop him by throwing a pillow at him.

“Step away from the wardrobe,” I say.

“I wasn’t trying to get a look-in on your dress,” Frank says, backing away. “Honest.”

I jump out of bed and take the bag containing the gown out of the wardrobe. “No peeking until tonight,” I tell him. “Otherwise you’re not getting any of this” – I perform a brief, flowing, sinuous movement with my body – “until the honeymoon. And you wouldn’t want to wait five months, would you?”

After that, Frank daren’t to try to sneak and peek.

The rest of the day drags on endlessly. We head out to Oxford Street to do our Christmas shopping. We buy all the presents for our families, before splitting up for a bit to buy each other stuff. At the same time, I shop for shoes and accessories to go with my party outfit.

We start to get ready at around 6:30 P.M. Frank goes first and heads up to the bathroom to shower up, and then he gets dressed – looking his absolute best in a midnight blue tuxedo. As I didn’t want Frank to see me get dressed, I instruct him to wait for me in living room. After my shower I put on my glamorous gold slitted ensemble. Then I accessorize my gown with the accessories I bought today: gold scalloped teardrop earrings, a golden cuff bracelet and gold strappy heels.

I flick out the ends of my hair with curling tongs and I give it lift and body with the hairspray to accentuate my face and balance the fitted gown for a total look. Next I do my makeup. I start with foundation to make my skin look flawless. Then I apply false eyelashes to make my eyes look bigger, fuller and more inviting, and then I apply black liquid eyeliner along my upper lids, to fill in any gaps between the false lashes and my own to make them look more natural. Finally, I choose a light pink shade for my lips.

At last I’m ready.

After taking one last look at myself in the full-length mirror, I grab my gold clutch purse and close the bedroom door carefully. I’m getting a fluttering and nauseous sensation in my stomach – feeling excited and nervous, all at the same time. But I steady myself and with my head held high, I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs to the living room.

Like I instructed Frank is waiting for me. He’s glancing at his watch, wondering if I’ll be finished any time soon. He doesn’t notice that I’m standing in the doorway until I clear my throat. Frank spins around and his eyes widen as I pose for him, hand on hip, the high slit allowing my strappy golden heels to peek out.

“Well, what do you think?” I ask.

Frank doesn’t say anything for a few moments. His eyes are pretty much doing all the talking – he’s letting them run over my curves in the gown and my long, slender leg that’s revealing itself from the slit of the dress. His finger pulls at his collar, as if the room has suddenly become too warm for him.

It’s becoming a little too warm for me, too – I feel myself blush.

“You look spectacular,” says Frank after a long silence.

“Really?” I say, blushing even more, averting my head.

Frank steps towards me. He puts his finger under my chin so that I have to look at him. “If anyone looks beautiful in a stunning gown, it’s you, Jen. And when we arrive at the party, everyone else will think so as well.”

I smile shyly. Then I reach up and gently, softly, sweetly kiss him on the lips. “Thank you,” I mumble.

Just then we hear a horn beeping outside.

“Our taxi is here,” says Frank. “You ready?”

I nod. We go to the hall to collect our coats and head outside.

xxoOoxx

A short while later the taxi pulls in beside the Temple Pier in Victoria Embankment where the party is being held.

Frank pays for the fare and we climb out of the taxi. Frank holds his arm out for me. I link mine into it, we hand our blank invitations to the doorman. After he checks our invitations, the doorman lets me and Frank through, and together we walk down the pier, following the other MI9 agents that have been granted access to the party and step aboard the yacht.

I feel like I’ve been transported to the 1920s as we step onto the _St Katherine_ – the inside exudes style and luxury. The lower dining deck has been styled to highlight the stunning, woodwork with its Art Deco influences following through the steamed ash wood chandelier at the fore of the saloon. The lower deck windows is given curved window surrounds, reflecting the upper deck, in a sage and leaf green ‘Serengeti’ raised velvet which frames London’s riverscape perfectly.

The booth seats is covered in a dark grey wool flannel fabric evoking the finest Savile Row suiting contracted with Nina Campbell’s dramatic ‘Giverny’ linen-lined walls and booth scatter cushions. The contrasting prints on each scatter cushion give each booth an individual signature.

“Gorgeous,” I murmur.

“Come on – let’s head upstairs,” says Frank.

I follow him up the stairs to the upper deck where the reception is held. The upper deck bar and lounge is lined with graceful, curved window surrounds in a luxe pale silver, tan and black raised velvet weave – which perfectly complements the nutmeg and cream wool carpeting, tan leather sofas and chaise lounges, oak carpentry, intimate booth seat dining and mirrored 1930s bar with a decorative cast iron grille facade all surrounding the wooden dance floor. The reception also features hundreds of other MI9 agents sipping cocktails and champagne as they talk and mingle – the men wearing sharp and tailored tuxedos, and the women wearing enchanting and glamorous gowns and dresses.

“Welcome, party-goers, to the _St Katherine_ ,” says a man. He’s young, fair and good-looking, dressed in black trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt, and black tie. The outfit is topped off with a black waistcoat and smart black shoes. “From the good food, great entertainment and fabulous views, we hope you have an unforgettable experienceon the finest river cruiser on the River Thames. Can I have your coats, please?”

I wait until everyone has taken off their coats and hand it over to the fair man. Then I shrug my coat off my shoulder and let it drop to the floor, revealing my gold, shimmering gown. Frank picks up my coat and hands it to the man.

“Thank you and enjoy your evening,” says the man before taking his leave.

I link my arm with Frank’s. “Let’s head to the bar – I’m thirsty,” I say.

All eyes are on me as we walk across the dance floor to the bar. I’m not accustomed to dressing this sexy, but I like the way it makes me feel.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Frank asks.

“I could be asking you the same thing,” I reply, looking to him. The self-satisfied smile on his face says it all.

The table at the bar holds flutes filled with champagne; wineglasses filled with white, red, and blush wines; goblets filled with an exotic punch; and cocktail glasses filled with cocktails of different colours – pink, green, white, orange, blue, etc. Frank and I each pick up a glass of champagne and wander over to the window so we can enjoy the incredible view of the South Bank.

“London looks so beautiful at night,” I say.

“Romantic for sure,” Frank adds.

“This will be a great place to hold a wedding reception. I can just picture it – we and our guests enjoying mouth-watering menus, whilst sipping champagne and taking in stunning views from the River Thames. It’ll be such a spectacular setting for the most memorable day of my life. Sorry – _our_ lives.”

But Frank doesn’t seem to mind my slip of the tongue. He just smiles. “Well, if you want a river cruise wedding reception, then that’s what you’ll get. I’ll make some enquiries with the owners of the _St Katherine_ on Monday, and if the price is good, we can book it.”

I smile in response. Like I’ve said before, it’s great having an amazing boyfriend.

Just then, I feel a jolt.

“Looks like we’re about to sail,” says Frank.

I look out of the window to see London’s scenery move with a smooth, quiet motion as the _St Katherine_ slips the moorings and starts to sail. Then the music starts to play from the DJ and a food waiter walks around offering canapés to the guests.

“Here we go,” I say. “Get ready for an evening of fine dining while the sights of London glide past us.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Frank takes a sip of his champagne.

“There you are!”

A familiar voice causes me and Frank to look up. It’s Carrie – making her way through the crowd and comes straight up to us. She looks fabulous in a one-shoulder cocktail dress that shimmers in printed tones of seafoam green and stuns with a dramatic drape at the neck. Her golden accessories of peep-toe platforms, chandelier earrings and bracelet are simply chic, perfect complements to a lovely look.

“Hey, guys,” she says. “Wow, Jen, you look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Frank clears his throat.

“And you look very dashing, Frank,” Carrie adds.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Anyway, come on. The others are waiting.”

We follow Carrie across the dance floor to the other side of the room where Oscar and Rose are seated. Oscar is handsomely dressed in a well-fitted black suit, and Rose is wearing a gown of green satin with a strapless golden and green jacquard bodice. The skirt is draped to one side and layered with golden glitter encrusted green tulle. Her black hair is pulled back in a low chignon, and the golden dangling earrings and necklace enhance her tan skin.

I see that Rose and Oscar are sitting with a group of agents I haven’t seen before. One is a tall, dark-skinned man with a unique afro hairstyle, smartly dressed in a black tuxedo and carrying a cane, while the other two are about the same age as Rose, Oscar and Carrie. The boy is quite well-built for a sixteen-year-old. His hair, styled like he’s just got out of bed (but looks neat at the same time), is brown. His eyes are brown and playful, like a puppy. He’s dressed in a white dinner jacket with classic black tuxedo pants. The other agent, a girl, has sandy blonde hair and big blue eyes. She’s certainly giving Barbie a run for her money – a hot pink mermaid gown that shimmers in a luxe satin material and stuns with an asymmetrical bodice, and striking flares at the bust and waist, with a metallic pink belt that’s cinched at the waist. Chandelier earrings, a jewelled cuff and a silvery clutch bag sparkle with rhinestones and glitz, while her long, loose locks – styled in a side-swept wavy hairstyle – are an elegant complement to a glamorous look.

As soon as we approach, Rose, Oscar and the three agents, the dark-skinned man’s face lights up.

“Frank!” the man exclaims, coming up to Frank and shaking his hand. “It’s been so long.”

“It’s only been twelve months. We met up at last year’s Christmas party, remember, Lenny?” says Frank.

Lenny? Where have I heard that name…? Oh! It’s Lenny Bicknall – the man who recruited Frank to MI9 and Rose’s old handler. And those two agents must be Rose’s old teammates – the ones who secretly like each other but will never admit it.

“Still, though,” says Lenny, “it’s good to see you after all these months.” He turns to me. “And who might I ask is this lovely young lady?”

I turn slightly pink.

“This, Lenny, is the woman who’s going to be my wife – Jenny Brownstone,” Frank says proudly. “Jen, this is Lenny Bicknall – Rose’s old handler, and my old mentor.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Lenny,” I say, extending my hand.

He kisses the back of my hand. “Very nice, indeed.”

“And those two are Rose’s old MI High team – Blane Whittaker and Daisy Millar,” says Frank, motioning to the two agents.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” they reply.

Rose’s old team seem really nice – practically Blane, who seems to have developed a fast crush on me. Daisy on the other seemed to be annoyed, as well as jealous, that Blane is paying more attention to me than he is to her.

And for the next half an hour, I get to know a little more about Blane and Daisy. Blane is a trained athlete, as well as an expert hand-to-hand combatant and has an older brother, Kyle, who’s a Special Forces soldier, serving in Afghanistan. And Daisy is the undercover operative of the group, coming from quite a well off family – who she rarely sees. Her father, Linus, is a politician (for the Labour Party), and her mother, Samantha, is a globe-trotting business woman.

One of the staff of the _St Katherine_ announces that dinner will soon be serving and we should make our way downstairs. When we enter the restaurant and get escorted to our table, Blane and Daisy tell me their adventures that they had when they were in MI High with Rose – from stopping a robot Prime Minister from waging war over the whole of Europe, to an evil fashion designer from turning children all over Britain into half-human, half-clothing freak shows. Rose even tells me the time when Daisy fell for a new member of the spy team – the charismatic teen CIA officer Agent Chad Turner, and Blane’s jealousy drove him to take a crazy risk – by putting on the MT-3000 (a device which gives its wearer superhuman strength) and almost getting killed by it. But Chad wasn’t the dishy dreamboat that Daisy hoped – as they found out that he was working with the Grandmaster, so they had to stop him.

“But Chad is gorgeous, though,” Daisy says dreamily.

Now it’s Blane’s turn to get jealous and he retaliates by telling me that time that he and Rose had to go undercover to investigate the disappearance of the X20 spy plane and they found out that the person who stole it was Irena Ryfield, the daughter of the engineer of the X20, and when they returned the plane back and MI9 gave Irena a job of teaching people how to fly, Irena asked Blane if he wanted to joined her. But Daisy was quick to decide that he should stay with her and Rose as he’s got ‘a lot of spy work to do’.

“Face it, Daisy, you like me. Admit it,” says Blane.

“I do not!” she says a little too quickly and a little too indignantly.

“She likes me,” Blane mouths to me.

I giggle.

Daisy scoffs and crosses her arms.

Lenny clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, “after our last mission where the team stopped an asteroid from destroying Earth, Director Fairchild was so pleased with their teamwork that she wanted to recruit them to help other kids to become spies like them.”

“Ah, yes, Rose told me about that,” I say. “It’s something like Alpha Unit…?”

“Unit Alpha,” Lenny corrects me. “It’s a branch of MI9. Its agents are aged between ten and seventeen years. They’re trained to work undercover. Blane trains them in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and Daisy teaches role-play and disguises. They live in a secret facility hidden in the English countryside.”

“Ah. So, what do you teach, Lenny?”

“Oh, I don’t teach. Ten months ago, I was promoted to chairman to the facility after Gordon Yates, the previous chairman, retired. I now run Unit Alpha.”

“Oh, wow, Lenny. Congratulations,” says Rose.

“Thank you, Rose,” he says. “Anyway, about three hundred kids live on the Unit Alpha campus. The kids are usually recruited between the ages of six and twelve and are allowed to work undercover from the age of ten, provided that they can pass a gruelling hundred-day training programme. Anyway, that’s enough about me, Daisy and Blane – I wanna know about you and Frank. How did you two meet?”

Frank and I exchange glances. Normally when people ask us how we met, we just say that we met at school. But when you have an MI9 agent asking you that same question, what do you say then?

“Erm…”

“Well, you see… Um…”

“It’s complicated, actually,” I say.

“How so?” Lenny asks.

“Uhm…”  I sigh. Guess it’s time to tell the truth. “Well, Frank and I met at St Hope’s – my auntie, the deputy headmistress, got me the job there. But I should tell you that when I met Frank, I wasn’t an MI9 agent. In fact, I didn’t even know he was a spy.”

“What do you mean?” Daisy asks.

“I take it you’ve heard of the Cat?”

“Only the most attractive and sexiest crime-fighter ever!” says Blane before Daisy can reply. “She’s something out of a comic book – she’s sassy and vivacious, not to mention a dangerous, clever and resourceful fighter. She’s known for her precise, agile attacks and speedy getaways. Her formidable hand-to-hand combat skills are augmented by her cat-like speed, reflexes, balance, and flexibility.”

Wow – someone’s done their homework.

“I’ve got posters and newspaper clippings of her on my bedroom wall,” Blane continues. “But I haven’t heard much of the Cat lately, you know? I wonder what she’s doing these days.”

“The fact that we haven’t heard much of her must mean that she’s on a downhill slide recently,” says Daisy.

“Actually, I’ve heard that she’s moved on to do bigger things,” says Carrie. “Better things.”

“Like, I don’t know… working for MI9,” says Rose.

“In fact, you could say that you’ve been talking to her all night,” says Oscar, raising his eyebrows.

Blane doesn’t follow, but Daisy gasps.

“No way!” she says, turning to me. “ _You’re_ the Cat?!”

I give a shy smile in reply. “Hi.”

“Oh, my God!” says Blane. “Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious.”

Blane and Daisy gush over me – Blane telling me how he was always a massive fan of the Cat and Daisy compliments my hair looking so glossy and my skin being so flawless and how she wishes her figure was like mine.

As the evening progresses, I tell them about how I started out as the Cat and the missions that I did. Then I tell them the story of how I met Frank, balancing being with him and maintaining my secret identity, until I found out that he was an MI9 agent and I broke up with him. Then Frank explains how he found out I was the Cat and I turned myself in instead of going on the run. And rather than spending the rest of life in jail, Director Fairchild offered to recruit me – which I did – and then him and me getting back together, and my missions as an MI9 spy with Rose, Oscar and Carrie.

“…finally, last month on my birthday, Frank proposed to me – and I said yes!” I finish telling Blane and Daisy as we relax in the upper deck after dinner. I show them the ring.

Daisy gasps. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes as she admires the gold diamond ring.

“So when is the wedding?” Blane asks.

“We’re hoping sometime in May,” Frank answers.

“Well, what else can I say then congratulations – both of you,” says Lenny.

“Thanks, Lenny,” Frank and I say.

I sit back comfortably in my seat as Frank and Lenny engaged in conversation. As do Rose, Carrie, Oscar, Blane and Daisy. I let out a sigh of content. It feels nice to be with my boyfriend, friends and colleagues without it being at HQ or school. I take a sip of my glass of Champagne and stare out the window, at the night sky. It’s clear and empty – not completely empty, though. The sky is lit by stars. They’re so big and bright and there are so _many_ of them. Not to mention the spectacularly illuminated sights of London’s landmark as we glide past them.

It feels magical, taking in the skyline along the Thames from the comfort of the upper deck of an elegant luxury yacht.

I feel someone’s fingertips brush at the back of my hand, and then taking it. I turn to find that it’s Frank who’s holding my hand.

“You OK?” he asks me.

I respond with a smile. “Never felt better,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze.

I take another sip of Champagne when ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! starts to play. Frank gets up and gives me his hand with a flourish.

“Shall we?” he says with a playful smile.

Playfully smiling back, I set my glass on the table and I take his hand. “Let’s shall.”

Frank gently pulls me up on my feet and we head to the dance floor, hand in hand. Once we get there, I drape my arms around Frank’s shoulders and he puts his arms on my lower back, and we start to sway back and forth to the music.

“So, I was all right tonight, wasn’t I?” I ask. “You know, with Lenny, Blane and Daisy. I mean, I didn’t wet myself, so we can firmly put that in the plus column.”

Frank chuckles. “Yes, we can,” he says. “And you were brilliant by the way. Lenny took an instant liking to you. As did Blane and Daisy.”

“Yeah?” I tease. “Well, if you _must_ know, I like them, too.”

As we dance, I got to thinking about Blane and Daisy. It’s so obvious that they like each other. Why can’t they confess their feelings to each other?

“Whatcha thinkin’?” Frank sings.

“Huh?” I come out of my daydream. “What makes you think I’m thinking?” I ask.

“You’re doing that cute thing when you tip your head and look up. That’s when I know when you’re thinking – or daydreaming.”

“And you find that cute? Man, you are weird.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question. Now spill – what were you thinking?”

I shrug. “I was just thinking about… Blane and Daisy. I was wondering why they haven’t asked each other out. They make a very attractive couple.”

“I know,” Frank sighs. “I’ve been asking myself that same question for a long time.”

“Really? How long have they liked each other for?”

“Well, when I first met Blane and Daisy four years ago, I asked Rose that very same question when I saw them catching sight of each other all night. Rose told me that it was ‘far too long’.”

“How long is ‘far too long’?”

“Before Oscar and Carrie, Rose was with Blane and Daisy for about… two years.”

My mouth drops open. “So you’re telling me that Blane and Daisy have been crushing on each other for _six years_?”

Frank nods. “It would appear so, yes.”

“Wow. That is unbelievable. And you or the others haven’t done anything about it? You haven’t talked to them or… locked them in a room together?”

“We tried to, but Blane and Daisy always get defensive and deny that they like one another. And I highly doubt that locking them in a room together will help. They’ll either jump out the window or Blane will kick down the door.”

“Right. Well. I guess it’s up to me, then.”

“What, you?”

“Yeah, me. In fact, I’m willing to bet fifty pounds that I can get those two together by the end of tonight.”

“Ooh, a wager.” It takes Frank a second to think before saying, “OK, I’m game. What’s the forfeit?”

“Loser has to be the winner’s slave for a week. And they have to do _everything_ the winner tells to do, whatever it may be.”

“Really?” says Frank, raising an eyebrow.

I can imagine that if I lose this bet, Frank would want me to wear a sexy French maid outfit and I’ll have to spend the week bending over to clean the bottom shelf with a pink feather duster so he can get a look at my… underthings.

“Well, in that case… I accept your challenge. May the best person win,” says Frank. “Now let’s shake on it.”

“Actually, I was thinking of a more festive way of sealing the deal.” I jerk my head upwards. Frank looks up, and above our heads is a sprig of mistletoe.

“Oh, Miss Brownstone… you are really something.” Frank smiles, his blue eyes shining. Then he leans in and kisses me softly.

Just as we kiss, Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ abruptly gets cut off. There are gasps and murmurs from everyone in the room. I pull away from Frank and open my eyes – only to find the room in pitch darkness.

“Hey, what’s going on?” someone cries.

“What the big idea!” another exclaims.

“Who turned out the…?” The person’s sentence isn’t finished due to the sound of rotor blades from above. The blades are so loud I can barely think. It’s like the helicopter is directly above the yacht.

And I’m right – the lights come on, flooding the room with a bright, white glow. At the same time, there’s a hissing, crackling sound, followed immediately by a cloud of smoke that covers the whole room.

Shouts, cries and coughs fill the air, the agents punching and pushing to stop what looks like a group of men dressed in black – with guns! – from taking them.

Frank pulls me against his chest, his arms tight around my waist, but someone stumbles backwards, knocking me and Frank over.

I scramble to my feet quickly before I get trampled on. I look around the smoked-filled room desperately trying to find Frank.

“Frank, where are you?” I choke. “Frank! Fra–!”

I feel a pair of arms go around me. I struggle the best I can as the person drags me backwards.

“Hey! Let go of me!” I yell. “Let me go, you bastard! Let me…”

The person claps his hand over my mouth, muffling my screams. I bite my assailant’s hand.

“Ow!” the man cries out. I spin around and hit him in the stomach. The man falls to his knees, clutching himself. I lash out again – this time I kick him hard, right in the crotch. The man gasps and doubles over, trembling in pain.

Immediately after my assailant keels over, I feel great pain at the back of my head. It’s as if someone went and clobbered my skull. Once again I’m correct – I sway, dropping to my knees and falling forwards.

I don’t even remember hitting the floor.

xxoOoxx

I feel like a truck has run over my head when I begin to come around. When I open my eyes, everything is slightly blurry. I close them and open them again. My head is thumping when I try to sit up – only for someone to gently push me back down.

“Try and keep still. You took a nasty knock on the head,” says a male voice.

“Is she awake?” another male voice asks.

Turning my head slightly to the right, I see Lenny and Blane – coming back into focus – kneeling down beside me, looking as though a great weight has been lifted from their backs.

“Hey there,” says Lenny. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone put rocks in my head,” I groan. I sit up, propping my hands behind me on the floor. “What happened?”

“After the smoke grenades were thrown in, I instructed the others to get to safety and went looking for you and Frank. Through the smoke, I saw one of the men in a balaclava knock you out with the handle of his gun. I raced over there as quickly as I could – despite my hip – and knocked him out with my cane. Then I carried you to the cloakroom and waited until it was over.”

“Whoa…” I breathe. I give him a smile. “Thanks, Lenny.”

I start to get up.  I feel a bit dizzy, but otherwise fine. Blane crooks his elbow with mine and with Lenny, we leave the cloakroom.

Everything is a lot brighter when we enter the reception room – supposedly from the flashlight feature from someone’s phone. I blink several times so my eyes can readjust at the brightly-lit room. When my vision comes back into focus, I see that as well as the upper deck being brighter, it’s also totally trashed.

“What the hell?” I murmur, shocked.

Tables and chairs have been flipped over. Refreshments spilled all over the floor. Drink puddles and smashed glasses on the bar and the floor. But the worst are the agents. Some of them have cuts and bruises. Others have it worse and have got split lips and black eyes, and are been treated by the bar staff or other agents who don’t look like they are badly injured. Even Daisy is helping out. She’s tending to one of the female agents, cleaning the small cut on the woman’s forehead with a white cloth – probably from the bar.

Daisy spots me and she tells her female patient to place the cloth on her forehead to staunch the wound. Then Daisy walks over to me.

“Are you all right now, Jenny?” she asks.

“I’m fine – I think,” I reply. “Is Frank OK?”

“You mean you haven’t told her?” Daisy asks Lenny and Blane.

“Told me what?” I glance at the two. They don’t say anything. “What is it?”

No reply.

Then I realize.

“He was taken, wasn’t he?” I say quietly.

Blane, Daisy and Lenny nod.

I nod too. I had a feeling that would happen. I think back to yesterday when Frank told me he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I can imagine when that thug tried to drag me away, Frank tried to stop that man, only for him to be caught and taken away.

“Frank wasn’t the only one who was taken,” says Daisy. “Carrie, Oscar and several dozen agents on the boat are missing – including Director Fairchild.”

“Can’t we track them down? Find out where they are,” I say.

“Way ahead of you, Jen. Rose is doing just that with her Spy-Pod,” Blane replies.

Just as the words are out of his mouth, Rose walks over with a combined look on her face of annoyance, frustration and worry.

“I can’t track anyone,” she grumbles. “Their phones, Spy-Pods and communicators must be lying at the bottom of the River Thames.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Daisy says sarcastically. “So what are we going to do?”

“Looks to me that we’ll have to turn this boat around, return to MI9 and figure out where our missing agents are,” I say.

“Don’t forget about the men who gatecrashed the party,” Blane adds.

“Hm. It’s obvious that they are mercenaries hired by someone who has a grudge against MI9. We can find out who that is when we get to HQ.”

“I’ll have a word with the pilot,” says Lenny. He heads out the door next to the cloakroom to the wheelhouse.

“I guess all we can do is wait now,” says Rose. She takes a seat on the sofa. Blane, Daisy and I do the same as we wait for the boat to take us back to HQ.

As we do that, one question spring into my mind: how the hell can we track a group of people whose electrical equipment is lying at the bottom of the Thames? We could collect some DNA to find out where they are, but it’s difficult to find out who’s missing as the glasses are smashed to pieces. I suppose we’ll have to wait until we get back to HQ. But that’ll take forever. By the time we’ll reach MI9, it will be far too late. If only there’s a quicker way of using Frank’s DNA to find him…

Then it hits me.

“Of course!” I exclaim. “I mean _duh_!”

“What? What? What is it?” cries Blane, startled by my outburst.

“Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“Think of what?” Rose asks.

“What is it?” Daisy demands.

Ignoring the young agents, I stand up and hitch up my skirt, revealing a holder strapped to my thigh, giving everyone in the room an eyeful of it – especially the men!

Anyway, I pull out my watch communicator out of the holder. “We can call Zeke!” I declare, pulling down my skirt.

“Zeke?” says Rose.

“Who’s Zeke?” chorus Blane and Daisy.

“Don’t you see?” I tell Rose, ignoring Blane and Daisy, “If we call Zeke, he can get into MI9’s database, download Frank’s DNA information into one of the androids and they’ll be able to locate him, Carrie, Oscar and everybody else!”

“Oh, my God, Jenny,” Rose gasps, “that’s genius!”

“Er, _hello_?” Daisy says impatiently. “I repeat, who’s Zeke?”

“He’s a former child prodigy and boy genius who trained me into becoming the Cat and he has a crush on Rose,” I say in one breath as I contact him.

“He trained you into becoming the Cat?” Blane asks, just as Daisy says, “He has a crush on Rose?”

They’re about to bombard me and Rose with questions, but I hush them so I can talk to Zeke – only to find the call has gone straight to voicemail.

_“Hey. You’ve reached Zeke Williams. I’m probably busy doing Sudoku – or building an awesome time travelling device! So please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I’ll get back to you ASAP. Peace out.”_

_BEEP!_

“Hey, Zeke, it’s Jenny,” I say. “I hope you’re enjoying Jamaica. Listen, we’re in a bit of a pickle back in London. So, please please please call back as soon as you can. OK, bye.” I hang up and sigh. “Once again, it appears we’ll just have to wait.” A thought occurs to me. “Speaking of which, how long does it take for Lenny to talk to the pilot?”

“Maybe he’s busy untying the pilot,” Blane suggests.

“Or maybe Lenny’s starting up the boat,” says Daisy.

I look out of the window. “But haven’t you guys noticed? We haven’t moved in the last five minutes. Something’s wrong. I’m gonna find out what’s happening. You guys wait here.”

Risking frostbite, I head out to the outside deck. The fresh night air is a real shock to my face – as well as the rest of my body! I quickly enter the door to the wheelhouse adjacent to the door of the reception.

“Hey, Lenny,” I say, closing the door behind me. “I’m just wondering what’s with the hold…?” I trail off, my breath caught in my throat and my question answered.

The room is dark, but thanks (or no thanks) to the shimmering lights of London; the wheelhouse is illuminated in a dim, orange glow. And in the dimly-lit room, this is what I see. It’s the pilot of the _St Katherine_. He’s slumped in his swivel chair in the corner of the room. His face is slack and cold. He’s sitting completely still, eyes open and staring. He’s not breathing. He’s not moving. He’s dead.

There’s a bullet hole in the middle of his chest. A dark puddle of blood has spread on his shirt.

“Oh, my God.” My voice is a choked whisper. “He’s… he’s dead.”

“I’m afraid he is, Jenny,” I hear Lenny say.

I’m so fixated on the corpse, I forgot about Lenny. I turn to him. He’s staring down at the control panels, but in the half-light I can see the serious look on his face that’s also filled with concern and worry.

“And forgive my bluntness but the pilot is the least of our problems,” he says.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

Lenny doesn’t answer my question. He’s still looking down at the controls. I go over to him to ask what he meant about his comment. But I stand stock still and see why.

It could be a second, a minute, an hour. Time’s standing still, even though the timer is ticking away on the digital clock.

“Oh, fuck,” is all I can say as I stare at the device that is putting me, Lenny and everybody on this yacht at risk.

A time-bomb.


	42. Casper Phillips

**(Frank’s POV)**

I feel very woozy when I come round. Overly-bright lights blind me and my mouth wrenches open in a great gasp as I breathe air. I become fully conscious of a tearing sensation in my lungs. It rises like a whirlwind into my larynx and I begin to cough. I cough and cough, the noise of air rushing into my lungs is as loud as an express train thundering into a tunnel.

I feel someone lifting me into a seated position and stroking my back until the coughing subsides.

“It’s all right, Frank. We’ve got you,” a voice says.

“Take deep breathes, Frank. Deep breathes,” someone else says.

I do what the person says and I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I keep doing it until I’m calm and I feel completely comfortable.

I open my eyes.

Two familiar faces gaze at me. They’re all in a fog. I blink and slowly my vision readjusts itself. I recognize the two people in front of me.

“Oscar,” I mumble. “Carrie.”

“Hi, Frank,” she says. “Glad you’re still with us. You gave us a bit a scare.”

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“You are feeling OK, though, right?” Oscar asks.

I nod. “So, how is everyone? Are they OK? How’s Jen?”

Oscar and Carrie exchange worried looks.

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

“Frank…” says Oscar, “Jenny’s not here.”

“You mean she was taken? Well, we need to find her! We need to track her phone or her communicator and we need to find out where she was taken to.”

“No, Frank, I don’t think you understand,” says Carrie. “Jen is not here _with us_.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Jenny is back on the _St Katherine_ with Rose, Blane, Daisy, Lenny and everybody else. Frank, _we_ are the ones who were taken.”

I look confused until Carrie and Oscar move away and I see the other captured agents in the room with us. There’s about fifty of us in the room – Stark and Director Fairchild are among us – sitting on the floor, their wrists bound together with plastic zip ties. I look down at my hands to see that they’re tied together.

“How did this happen?” I say.

“It was those guys,” says Oscar, nodding over to the ten guards dressed head to toe in black militaristic uniforms, carrying machine guns.

Then I remember. The lights went out on the yacht and the room was filled with smoke. I tried to protect Jenny from the commando attack, but we got knocked over. I tried looking for her but someone wrapped their arm around my neck and was choking me until I passed out.

“It’s all coming back to me now,” I murmur. I also remember as I was drifting in and out of conscious the rush of cold air on my face, like I was riding on something fast – like a speedboat, and I remember being dragged and bundled into a van.

I nod, remembering how I got here.

Wherever here is.

I take another look at my new surroundings and notice that we are definitely not on the _St Katherine_ anymore. We’re in a very different location. It’s a large, square room with three windows. There’s a large boardroom table with chairs around it in the middle of the room, a large plasma screen, and a couple of prints on the wall.

I frown. I have a feeling that I’ve been here before. Then I suddenly realize.

“We’re in MI9!” I burst out.

“Hey – no talking!” one of the men shouts, pointing his gun at me. Then he returns to his conversation with his colleagues.

“Oh my God, we’re in MI9,” I say again – this time, a bit more quietly.

“Yes. Yes, we are, Frank,” says Oscar, with Carrie nodding in agreement.

“But… why? Why were we taken here?” I ask.

The door opens and a tall, blond man enters the room. He’s dressed immaculately in a tailored black suit. He has two distinct scars on his face – one is underneath his left eye and the other is a thin scar that’s running over his face from above the left eyebrow to the right cheek.

“Looks like you’re about to get your answer,” says Carrie.

The man stands before us.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he says, “I’m Casper Phillips, and I… will be your host for the evening.” He sets his eyes on Director Fairchild. He gives a thin smile and strides over to her. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Director General Francine Fairchild.” Phillips stares into her eyes as he stoops down to her eye level, unable to hide the enjoyment of capturing her. “How _awesome_ is this? I mean, come on, I know it’s hard for you to admit it, ‘cause it’s like, you’re not really in the best place – you don’t have the perspective that you need – but honestly, how spectacular a move is this. That I’m here and you’re like… that you’re there? I mean what’s up? I wanna talk to you, that’s the sick part. Catch up and stuff, ‘cause so much has happened in the last five years. I mean, you’re still hiring spotty, hormonal, juvenile brats to protect the country” – he nods to Carrie and Oscar – “but other than that, this place hasn’t changed very much. But you look a little older. Which is good, your hair’s good.”

Director Fairchild just stares at him. Not in the least bit amused. Phillips’ look at the director slightly changes now. Some of the bluster starts to fade. There’s an odd touch of vulnerability that starts to emerge.

“You know what the worst part is, being left for dead in Hepojoki? Frannie? Well… you’ll learn the worst part. But hey, another part that sucks, especially when you’re being held captive by Uttlandish soldiers, which was, like, basically my whole Hepojoki experience, is seeing guys you work with – guys you thought were harder than a diamond – tortured to death. That’s no good. The part that was the most ironical for _me_ , is that we’d done the damn job. We blew that chemical weapons facility to hell the first night we landed.”

“Do you know this guy?” Oscar asks me quietly.

I shake my head. “But I do know the operation,” I murmur in reply. “Back in 2008, Director Fairchild sent a team to Hepojoki to destroy the Nuxvar Chemical Weapons Storage Facility. There were complications… the team was captured by the Uttlandish.”

Suddenly, Phillips’ attitude shifts – to a confidence that says, “You know me, I’m a glass half-full kinda guy: if that chopper had been where the hell you know it _should’ve_ been… my life would’ve taken a different direction. I’d be one of you guys right now. And the truth is? Right now? I’d rather be me.”

“What… do you want?” Director Fairchild asks. Her voice is utterly cold.

Phillips stands up. “You know while I was being tortured, I was planning on how I would fix my revenge on you, Frannie. I’ve been planning on how to crush you and your pathetic little secret service agency. After I was released, I waited for months and months to get back at you. I waited until the time was right. And believe me, this is worth the wait. It’s the one night of the year where you let your guard down – the office Christmas party. And it wasn’t really that hard finding you – I had some help.” He goes to the door and opens it. “Come in, Casey dear!”

A tall girl with short golden hair enters the room. She’s dressed in an off-white gown with diamond jewellery. She’s looking pale and nervous.

Director Fairchild recognizes her. “Agent Adams?”

“That’s right, Frannie! It was sweet, little Agent Casey Adams who told me where you were,” says Phillips, putting his arm around Casey’s shoulders and squeezing. “Well done, kiddo!”

Casey remains quiet.

“Anyway,” Phillips continues, walking up to Director Fairchild, “referring about your earlier question about what I want, there’s only one thing that I want: the combination to the MI9 vault. Which only you have.”

The director stares at Phillips for the longest time.

“There is not a chance in hell that I’m helping you with anything,” she finally says.

I thought Phillips would get angry. But he just stares back at Director Fairchild, looking calm and understanding.

“OK. Cool,” he says. “That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me right now. But you will… eventually.” Phillips turns to his team. “Help the lady on her feet.”

Two of the armed guards walk over to the director. They break her restrains and force her on her feet. Then, with a guard holding her on each side, they half-drag Director Fairchild across the room and force her to sit down on a chair that’s placed in front. One of the guards takes out two zip ties and tightly fastens the director’s wrist to the arms of the chair.

“They took us to their base in Jiotekridge,” Phillips tells Director Fairchild. “After thirty-eight days of beatings they finally got around to interrogating me. Took me into a room – very simple. Purpose-built. I was tied to a chair – similar to how you are tied up right now. And they asked me questions about the Enigma Rebels. Wanted to know where they were keeping Uttlandish POW’s. I told ‘em I had no bloody idea. I was just a kid from Nottingham runnin’ black-ops for Good Queen Bess. A British citizen. And if they didn’t get their cabbage-swilling mugs out of mine, they were begging for an international incident. The senior Uttlandish soldier didn’t want a piece of that action… so he had DoI – the Division of Investigation – to contact London through front and back channels.

“MI9 claimed they’d never heard of me.” His eyes are ugly, filled with rage. “They denied all knowledge of any operative named Casper Phillips. So when that Uttlandish hung up the phone… he was so pissed off… so… insane with rage… he stabbed me under my left eye and sliced my face open with a combat knife…” Phillips opens his jacket to reveal a holster attached to his belt, and takes out a knife; razor sharp with a smooth edge. He holds it up to his face, his eyes gleaming. “Very similar to this.” He takes a step closer to Director Fairchild. The blade flashes, catching light. “Imagine what this could do to that pretty face of yours… Frannie.”

The edge of the blade is quivering in front of the director’s face, a hair’s breadth from her eye. The edge of the blade has actually nicks the skin of her cheek. A trickle of blood slides down her face.

“But…” Phillips yanks the knife away from her face and puts it away, “let’s not run before we can walk. We have a long night ahead of us.” He now has a bright smile on his face.

“You know there will be other people after me,” says Director Fairchild.

“Oh, you mean the other agents we had to leave behind? I very much doubt that, sweetheart. Not with the early Christmas present I left them. It will literally blow them away.”

My body tenses up.

“Even if they do deactivate the bomb,” Phillips continues, “there’s no way they’ll be able to restart that floating bucket of a yacht, get here and get past the fifty strong commando operatives that I have stationed around the building, so” – he shrugs – “tough titties. Now… back to the business at hand. Give me the combination to the MI9 vault” – Phillips cracks his knuckles – “or I’m going to get very physical with you – and I don’t mean the good, sexual way. And I promise you, Frannie… you don’t want me to do that to you.”

Director Fairchild clenches her fists. “Do your worst, Phillips. I’ll never tell you anything.”

“Have it your way, then,” he says, and he back-hands her viciously across the face. Then he starts to beat and batter Director Fairchild while everybody in the room looks on.

But I can’t bear to watch so I look away, hoping that Director Fairchild doesn’t give in to Phillips’ demand. At the same time I silently pray that someone on the _St Katherine_ defuses the bomb that’s on-board with them and rescues us from this madman.

This is going to be a long night.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Oh my God,” I whisper as I stare at the decreasing digital timer on the bomb. “Oh, my fucking God.” I can barely breathe. “There’s a freakin’ bomb on the boat. What the hell are we going to do?”

At first, Lenny doesn’t reply. He’s still staring at the time-bomb. After a few seconds, he says, “First things thing: don’t panic. We have to be calm and composed.”

“I’m not panicked! Who’s panicked? Nobody’s panicked!” I say, panicking.

“Calm down. Now is not the time for fear. That can come later. Right now, we need to keep our heads clear and disarm the bomb. We’ve got plenty of time.”

The digital readout on the timer ticks down to one minute.

“I really don’t think sixty seconds is plenty of time, Lenny,” I say nervously.

“Sometimes that’s how long we need,” he says. He hands me his cane. Then he digs into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a Swiss Multi-tool. He opens it up and slides out wire cutters. Next, Lenny carefully removes a panel under the timer. But our faces drop when we see that the five wires inside the bomb are all blue.

“You know, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that this is a very poorly designed bomb, and I think we should say something to somebody about it when we get back,” I say.

“Looks like we’ll have to guess,” says Lenny. “We have to be extremely careful. If the wrong wire is cut, the bomb will explode instantly, killing us and everyone else on the _St Katherine_.”

“No pressure then. Good luck, Lenny.”

It’s like _Countdown_ now – we only have thirty seconds.

Lenny takes one huge breath and lets it out. “OK, Jenny,” he begins, “pick a number between one and five.”

“Oh crap,” I whisper, staying perfectly still for a few seconds. “Uh… three!”

Lenny cuts the middle wire. “OK, my go. Five.” He cuts the fifth wire. “Jenny?”

“Four.”

Another wire is cut. The beeping sound is getting faster and angrier, letting us know that we only have fifteen seconds before we get instantly transported to the Pearly Gates in the sky.

“Only two more wires,” says Lenny. He’s deciding whether to cut the first wire first or the second wire.

My muscles tense as I wait for Lenny to cut a wire. Any wire. My heart is racing like a rabbit’s, my pulse so loud in my ears, and my body is trembling.

Come on, Lenny! It’s time to make an executive decision.

“Screw it,” he mumbles and cuts the first wire. “OK – this is it.”

My heart speeds up to a barely manageable pace as I shut my eyes tightly and grip onto the cane. I can feel my pulse throughout my body as the final beeps tick down. I really hope this works…

I hear the final wire being cut.

The beeping has stopped.

I wait for the explosion… but there isn’t one.

There’s no ka-boom. I don’t feel my body burning on fire or torn apart.

There’s nothing.

I open my eyes. I’m still in the wheelhouse of the yacht. I’m still standing in the same spot that I’ve been standing in for the last minute. I’m still in one piece. I look at the bomb and stare in disbelief at the timer. One second. That’s the time remaining when the final wire was cut. One _bloody_ second. I stare at Lenny. There’s a feeling of reassurance and relaxation on his face to let me know that we did it – we disarmed the bomb.

I let out a whoosh of air. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “Oh my bloody God – we did it. We defused the bomb. We’re still in one piece.”

“Yes. Yes, we’re alive,” says Lenny. He takes a step towards me and wraps his arms around me, and I can breathe again. “We’re OK. We’re going to be OK.”

Thank God for that. Though I’ve got to admit as the final was being cut, I peed a little. But I don’t tell Lenny that. He doesn’t need to know that. No-one ever needs to know that.

I pull away. “We may be OK for now. But we still need to figure a way to locate Frank and the others and…” I say, but stop when a scream cuts through air.

It’s coming from the next door. There’s the sound of crashes and thumps. Lenny and I head out of the wheelhouse to the reception room to find out what the commotion is about.

There’s chaos when we enter the room. Some of the agents – mostly the female agents, Blane and the injured agents – are standing by the cloakroom and the entrance that Lenny and I came through, while the male agents are in some sort of pile on the other side where the bar and dance floor is.

There are groans and grunts as punches shoot through the air before the men move to the sofas. Tables and chairs are being knocked down. Everyone is shouting at once.

“ _Enough!_ ” Lenny yells, making me jump. Everyone stops shouting and stare at him. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on,” he says, taking a few steps forward.

“We’re sorry, Chairman Bicknall, sir,” says one of the male agents. He’s well built, and has brown hair and light brown eyes. He and the other agents move aside to reveal two men dressed in black full-body combat armour, panting heavily, seated on the sofa – their hands tied together. “We found these two hiding in the gents toilets. We dragged them out here, disarmed them of their combat equipment and tied them up. We were hoping they would tell us where Director Fairchild and the others were taken to, but… we didn’t get that far.”

It’s not like the hired men will tell anyone anything. The agents were being too rough. What they need is someone to coax the two men into telling us where the other agents are. Someone who can use their attractiveness and wiles to take advantage of them…

And that’s when I get an idea.

“Hey Lenny.” I go up to him. “Let me have a crack at them. I think I could get them to talk.”

“How?” he asks. At one raised eyebrow from me, Lenny’s mouth forms a small O, indicating of how I’m going to get our two unwanted guests to talk. “Oh. Right. Well, you better, er, get on with it then.”

“With pleasure,” I say, taking off my engagement ring and handing it to Lenny. I run one hand through my hair, fluffing it up, and smooth my dress. I throw my hips back and forth as I cross the room to the sofa. “Take a breather, guys. I’m running this show now.”

The agents look unsure, but they do what I tell them and move to other side of the room. I turn my attentions to the men on the sofa. One of them is of wide, muscular build, with a slightly tanned complexion, short dark brown hair that’s neatly slicked back, blue eyes, and a square-shaped face with a strong jawline. The other man is younger and athletic-looking with spiky blonde hair and clear blue eyes.

“Hello, boys,” I say in a sultry voice. “I apologize for those brutes being so rough with you. Those idiots will only think with their fists, not with their heads.”

I turn around and bend over, my arse in the air. I pick up one of the overturned tables. I shake my arse from side to side before standing up and facing them again. I perch myself on the table and cross my legs.  While sitting down I hike up my gold dress to expose my long curvaceous crossed legs.

I feel completely sick to the stomach as I do these actions because I’m faithful to Frank, but I have to do to get the information I need to find out where these jerks friends have kidnapped Frank, Director Fairchild and the other agents.

I mentally take a deep breath and continue with my charade. “You know… I’m really into muscular guys,” I say, biting my lower lip, and shyly looking away. “Nothing turns me on more than startlingly buff men, with highly defined biceps and arms, broad chests, carved abdominal six-packs, and muscular backs.”

I can imagine that the male agents have taken a leave of their senses and devolved into a steaming mass of drool, totally consumed by lust.

“Not only are you both handsome men looking strong and muscular,” I continue, “but I bet you two are also extremely clever – clever enough to know where your friends have taken my boss and colleagues. So if you two were to tell me… maybe we can make a deal – make it worth your while. I could persuade my boss to… negotiate something with you two – in exchange for you helping me out. First-class plane tickets to any destination around the world, a huge mansion, a new car or boat… maybe even me.”  I lean forward, sticking my chest out a little. “So, come on, boys… what do you say?”

I wink at them – the icing on the cake.

There’s silence in the room. Everyone – including myself – is waiting to see if the hired men will take the bait.

After a minute or so, the muscular, tanned man leans forward, his mouth twisted into a sneer.

“You must think we’re a right couple of chumps,” he says. “Do you really think we would fall for should a cheap and pathetic performance like that?”

“Er, excuse me?” I say, bemused.

“If you think that fluttering your eyelashes and showing your arse in front of our faces would get us to tell you where your friends are, then you are most foolish and empty-headed bimbo that’s ever graced the planet since Kim Kardashian,” says the athletic man.

“Besides, I’m not into trampy little jungle bunny hoes like you. So why don’t you take your eight ball face out of mine and fly back home to Africa, you slutty black bitch!” says Muscle Man.

Everyone gasps. I’m stunned. I’ve never heard such offensive language like that. I mean I’ve been called many things, but for him to use ethnic slurs like that… that is unacceptable. I feel really shaken up.

Muscle Man sits back on the sofa with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, knowing that he has touched a very raw and very sensitive nerve.

“Are you OK, Jenny?” I hear Lenny ask me.

I can feel everyone looking at me, expecting me to fly at this racist c**t.

Instead, I say, “Yes. I’m… I’m fine.”

I stand up and stroll over to the bar. I close my eyes and take few deep breaths. When I open my eyes again, I spot their utility belts on the counter. Attached to the side of the belt are holsters – with pistols. I take out one of the guns from the holster and study it. A Walther PP.

What to do? What to do?

I feel like there are two Jennys. There’s one that wants to teach this racial bigot a lesson – as well as get the truth out of him. And the other wants to put the gun down, walk to the other side of the room and let someone else have a go on getting these dicks to talk.

As the Jenny twins argue it out, I heard the racialist brute utter, “What’s wrong, darkie? I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

He and his spiky-haired friend burst out laughing.

I grip tightly onto the handle of the gun, my eyes dark with fury. Guess which Jenny twin won.

“No. No, you didn’t hurt my feelings,” I say, turning to the bigoted men with my hands behind my back. I make my way over to them. “However, you did piss me right off with those malicious words that spewed out that disgusting mouth of yours. I mean, seriously do you kiss your mother with that mouth? All I wanted to know was where your mercenary friends have taken my colleagues and you have to go and open the racist door. And since flirting with you didn’t work, I’m now forced to go into plan B.”

I produce the pistol from behind my back and point it at the brawny thug.

Shocked gasps echo around the room. I hear Daisy murmur, “Oh, my God.”

“Either you tell me where my friends are, or it’s going to get very messy for you,” I say, staring the burly loot straight in the eyes, the gun aimed for his head, my finger on the trigger.

The thug looks at the barrel of the gun, he looks at me. He sniggers under his breath. “If you really think pointing a gun at my face will get me to tell you anything, then you must be stupid as well as tarty,” he says. “Besides, you don’t have the guts to shoot me.”

My hand trembles. My eyes flicker. I look away and lower the gun.

“You know what, you’re right – I can’t shoot you,” I say quietly. I can sense the dick smiling in an irritatingly conceited way. “But I can do this.”

Holding the handle of the pistol, I hit the beefy bastard with an overhand strike from the side of the gun.

Startled gasps rise up in the room.

I pistol-whip Muscle Man a few more times, drawing a lot of blood with every blow. By the time I’m done with him, the muscular man is looking a lot worse than he really is. His face is covered with laceration marks. The blood is dripping from his face and mouth to his clothes.

Then the strangest thing happens. Rather than groaning in pain and telling me what he knows, Muscle Man throws back his slick back head and hoots with laughter. “You dizzy dame!” he says. “I’ve taken more hits in the face than a woman in an abusive relationship. Is that the best you can do, coon girl?”

“No.” I cock the pistol; point the gun straight at his knee and fire.

Muscle Man cries out, a high-pitched scream of pain, as the bullet tears through his kneecap, leaving a hole the size of a marble in his knee. His face contorts with agony as the blood pours out of his knee.

“That is the best I can do,” I say.

Everyone is shouting and crying out in surprise. “Jesus Christ!”

“Holy shit!” I heard Blane exclaim.

Even Muscle Man’s athletic friend is screaming. “Oh, my God!” he cries. “Oh, my God! You crazy bitch! Are you insane?!”

I grab hold a fistful of Athletic Man’s hair and smash his face down on the table, directly on the bridge of his nose.

The _pop_ is loud, and he cries out and his head is thrown back as blood starts to gush down his face.

“I have had just about enough of you and your racist friend with the name-calling,” I seethe. “I’ve tried being nice with you two but you throw it back in my face, so now I have resorted to violence.” I lean closer to Athletic Man. “I could shoot you dead right now… but I’m willing to give you another chance.” I pull away. “Like I said before, you are a very clever man. I’m giving you one more chance to tell me where your mercenary friends have taken my colleagues and who ordered you to. Because if you don’t…” I place the gun between Athletic Man’s legs, “the next bullet that leaves this gun will go into those two marbles between your legs that are probably shrinking its way back into your body right about now.”

Big tears course down Athletic Man’s cheeks, the blood now dripping off his chin. He looks so insignificant, so pathetic, so helpless.

A few seconds pass. It seems like an hour.

“Fine.” I press the barrel on his groin.

“OK – it’s Phillips! Phillips! His name is Casper Phillips!” Athletic Man sobs.

“Shut up, Sean!” Muscle Man says through clenched teeth – but Sean, a.k.a. Athletic Man, doesn’t shut up.

“Phillips hired us to kidnap the head of MI9 and some of the agents as collateral damage so he could get her to give him the combination code to the vault.”

“Combination code to the vault?” Lenny is now by my side. “You mean they’re at MI9?”

Sean nods. “After he gets the code, Phillips plans on taking the most dangerous weapons stored in there to sale to the highest bidder…”

“And when he’s done,” Muscle Man butts in, “he’s going to kill your boss and all your colleagues, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

He bursts into a mad laugh. He’s really gone beyond pissing me off.

But before I can do anything about it, Lenny twirls his cane and uses the crook handle to whack Muscle Man on the head, instantly knocking him out.

I blink at Lenny, astonished.

“He was becoming ever so bothersome,” he says. “You are OK, though, yeah?”

“Well, right now I am,” I say, glancing to weeping Sean and the unconscious muscular man.

Lenny holds his hand out. “I think I’ll take the gun, if you don’t mind.”

I hand him the pistol and he places it back on the counter of the bar. I turn to the agents. Some stand in stunned silence, while the others stare in amazement and admiration.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” I start. “I would like to… apologize for what you had to witness there. I really don’t know what came over me. My mind went completely blank when I heard what that _racist dick_ ” – I sneer the words, as if it’s poison in my mouth, a disgusting flavour I want to rid myself of – “was saying about me. And I just couldn’t help myself. It was very unprofessional of me and I hope nothing like this ever happens again.”

The agents nod in reassurance, but I know that some of them – particularly the ones of ethnic persuasion – want to shake my hand and buy me a drink. I can feel Lenny’s hand on my shoulder and squeezing it, knowing that I am sorry and he has forgiven me.

“Anyway…” I rub my hands together, “this Casper Phillips guy. What’s up with him? Who is he?”

“He was one of MI9’s top agents,” says one of the female agents, sporting a very short, silky blue party dress. “Five years ago, he was tasked by Director Fairchild to destroy a chemical weapons facility in Hepojoki, but was captured.”

“And now it looks like he’s hell-bent on exacting revenge on Director Fairchild,” says Lenny.

“Well, it’s obvious what our mission is,” I say. “Head over to MI9, stop Phillips from accessing the vault and save our colleagues.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” the dark-haired male agent asks. “None of us have gadgets or weapons on us.”

“Because not all of us are going. I’ll only need a small team – and when I say small, I mean…” I nod to Rose, Blane and Daisy.

“You mean us?” the trio say.

“You mean _them_?” the male agent says.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” I say. “They’re just kids; they shouldn’t be doing a mission as dangerous as this. But I have faith in them. I know that they’ll do a fine job with this mission as you would. Besides, you’re needed here. We need someone to drive the yacht back to the pier. Someone to attend to the injured, as well as the dining and kitchen staff downstairs, and we need someone to keep the Crybaby and the Giant Racist in check.”

The agents look to each other.

“Well…” the male agent shrugs his shoulders, “when you put it like that, you’ve got a good point there. I’m certainly not going to argue with you on that. OK, I’ll take a chance on the spy kids.” He turns to the adult agents. “Come on, guys, let’s get to work.”

The agents get on with the tasks at hand as Rose, Blane and Daisy hurry over to me.

“Wow, Jen. Thanks for putting all your faith in us,” says Blane.

“No problem,” I say. “Got your Spy Watch, Rose?”

“You know it,” she says, producing it from her clutch bag.

Strapping on my watch-communicator, I instantly change my outfit from my gold dress to a black skintight full-body jumpsuit with matching black chest plate with built-in thrusters on the back, and helmet. Rose does the same thing with her Spy Watch.

“Oh, wow!” says Daisy, mesmerized.

“That… is wicked!” says Blane.

“Thanks,” I smile. “Now for you two.” I position the watch-communicator in front of them and change their outfits to what Rose and I are wearing.

“This is so _cool_!” says Blane.

“Glad you like it,” I say. “Now let’s hotfoot it to MI9.”

“Wait,” says Rose. “Phillips may have set the place in lockdown – meaning we’ll have no way in getting into the building.”

“That’s not strictly true,” says Lenny. “It’s rumoured that there’s a secret entrance to MI9 underneath Lambeth Bridge.”

“What – like a tunnel?” I ask.

Lenny nods.

“You mean we have to go through a _sewer_?” says Daisy, outraged and disgusted. “Ew!”

“I really don’t think we have much of a choice,” I tell her. “If we have to go through the sewer to save MI9, then that’s what we’ll have to do.”

“There’s something else you should know,” says Lenny. “There are about ten pounds of C-4 strategically placed within the substructure of the building. Opening the vault will trigger that C-4 – all underground levels will collapse, burying any evidence that MI9 ever existed.”

“Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse,” says Blane.

“Then there’s no time to waste!” I say. “Let’s get over to MI9 and save the place.”

“Good luck, team,” says Lenny. “Also, Jen. Here.” He hands me his Swiss Multi-tool. “And be careful.”

I smile gratefully, and I lead the young spies out to the outside deck on the lower deck. The night air feels cold against my face. I soon sort the problem out by activating the helmet, covering my face with its clear visor. Rose, Daisy and Blane copy what I do.

“All right, spies, let’s save MI9,” I say.

On the left hand side of the suit, I press a large red button activating the suit’s flight system. After the thrusters are fried up, the team and I take off in the night skies and fly over to MI9.


	43. The Break-In

**(Jenny’s POV)**

MI9 is within our sights when we arrive less than five minutes later.

“Right, we’re here,” I say as we arrive by Lambeth Bridge. “Let’s find that secret entrance.”

“Er, it might be a bit difficult, Jenny,” says Rose. “According to my Thames Tideway app on my Spy-Pod, the water has risen by six metres – meaning that the entrance is underwater.”

“Then it looks like we’ll be doing a bit of late-night swimming.”

“Won’t we drown?” Blane asks.

“Nah. The helmets are self-oxygenating – allowing us to breathe underwater. We’ll be fine. Ready?”

“Ready!” says the team – though I think Daisy is still upset that we have to go through a sewer, but we have to do this.

I switch off the thrusters and do a forward dive while in the air, my back arched, my arms extended sideways and my legs straight and together, and plunge into the water with my arms stretched above my head.

The cold is ferocious, a hammer blow that nearly forces the air out of my lungs. My whole body is in shock, but the special heating panels integrated in the back of the wetsuit activates, warming my body up to a reasonable temperature.

The water is as black as ink. I can barely see two feet in front of me. I turn on the headlamp on my helmet but don’t want the authorities to get suspicious, so I turn the light down so that there is just enough for me to see.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I whirl around, to see Rose, Daisy and Blane. With everyone together, we kick forward, beginning our venture underwater.

We try to move as quickly as we can because the current, as I’ve just found out, is tricky, swirling first in one direction, then pulling us hard in the other.

I kick hard and try to lengthen my strokes as I continue to swim forward. The water is cloudy, green like pea soup.

I must have been swimming for almost two minutes. It feels closer to ten. My chest is aching and my biceps tightening. The current is surprising strong, but I kick through the swirling water.

I keep pushing against the current when I find myself looking into a black hole on the wall at the end of the bridge.

“Hey guys! I think that’s the secret entrance to MI9,” I tell the young spies. “Let’s head for it.”

We move forward. I can feel the force of the current pushing me back as I get near to the entrance. I try again, but another thrust of the powerful current throws me back.

“Now what do we do?” Blane asks.

My practical mind gets to work. Suddenly, I get a brainstorm.

“I’ve got an idea,” I say. “Take hold of my wrist.”

“What?” Daisy says.

“Just do it. Rose, take hold of the other. Blane, take hold of either of the girls’ wrists.”

The trio spring into action – Daisy holds onto my left wrist, Rose takes my right and Blane hold onto Rose’s wrist.

“Now whatever you do, don’t let go,” I instruct them. “Daisy, press the button on my chest plate.

She does what I say and presses the red button. The thrusters activate once again and we shoot forward into the tunnel. The beams on our torch helmets point the way ahead and throwing pure, white light onto our immediate surroundings.

“Hold on!” I say when I spot a curve in the tunnel ahead of us. Gripping onto Rose and Daisy’s wrists, I lean to the right of the tunnel and swim along the wall, looping around the tunnel like skateboarder.

“Woo-hoo!” I hear Blane whoop.

I circle the entire curve of the tunnel before swimming in a straight line again.

We continue to hurtle down the tunnel like a bullet, crashing through the water, when I make out a circular entrance up ahead of me.

“Daisy, switch off my thrusters!” I tell her.

With all her strength, Daisy brings up her hand and presses the button on my chest plate, turning off the engines.

Just as the thrusters are switched off, we emerge out of the tunnel… and down a waterfall!

“GWAAAAAH!” we scream as we fall all the way down to the body of water below.

“Bloody hell!” I cry when I break the surface. A few seconds later Rose, Daisy and Blane reappear, and we all swim to the side.

We climb onto the narrow walkway at the edge of the waterhole, and sit alongside it, our feet dangling in the grimy water.

I retract the visor back into the helmet. The air is damp and the warm (but disgusting) stench of sewage rushes past me. I look up at the outfall that we fell out from. It must be a least forty metres high.

What a thrill that was.

I let out a sigh. “Well,” I say after a long silence, “that was… interesting.”

“That was awesome!” says Blane, his eyes wide with excitement.

“That was scary,” says Rose.

“That was something I never want to experience again,” says Daisy.

We all nod, agreeing with the said comments.

“Anyway, no time dilly-dallying,” I say, standing up. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

The trio get to their feet and follow me along the walkway to a set of steps. At the top of the steps is a rusty ladder, running up to the ceiling, into the next part of the sewer. After we climb up the dank steps, we start to climb up the ladder. The metal rungs are ice-cold against my hands as I ascend further and ever further up the ladder. I can feel a rush of cold air streaming down towards me. I keep moving upwards until I’m shown metal grilles guided by the light on my headlamp set on the ceiling at the top of the ladder.

I use one hand to take hold of the grille and give it a push, but it’s firmly secured, bolted into the rock face. I ball my hand into a fist and I punch at the grille, but to no avail. I keep punching the grille to shift it open until my knuckles gets sore and then I switch hands.

“Come on, you lousy fu…” I mumble as I continue to punch.

“What’s going on up there?” I hear Daisy ask, but I ignore her and carry on punching, until one side of the grille shifts – but only a little bit.

My arm is starting to ache and my knuckles are getting sore, but I can’t give up now. I give one last strong at the grille… and it flies up from the rock and lands with a _clang_.

Result!

Carefully, I begin to squeeze through the rectangular hole and climb out into the next part of the sewer. I help Rose out of the hole, followed by Daisy and then Blane – although he can pretty much do it himself.

“Where are we?” Daisy asks, dusting her hands off.

“It looks like some sort of tunnel,” says Blane.

I light up my headlamp to full beam, and the light shoots out across the chamber like a laser show, lighting up everything in our sights.

We find ourselves in the middle of a relatively wide tunnel going in two directions in semi-circular form. The floor is a metal mezzanine and the circular rings of the iron/concrete walls seem to spiral into the distance. Thin straw-like stalactites can be seen, some more than two feet in length, where minerals in the rocks outside the shell of the structure have leaked through over the years, depositing formations not dissimilar to those seen in caves. They’re hollow and most have a drip of water waiting to drop from their ends. As well as the stalactites, very short but stubby stalagmites are seen forming on the floor.

“What is this place?” Blane asks.

“Oh, my God – it’s an underground bunker,” says Rose. “MI9 must have used it as an air-raid shelter during World War Two. And I have to say that this is amazing! I mean, can you _believe_ this? We have just rediscovered a piece of MI9 history!”

“And we get do some rediscovering later – after we save MI9,” I say. “Right now, we need to figure out where we have to go.”

“I’m on the case.” Rose takes out her Spy-Pod and scans the tunnel. After a few seconds she says while pointing at one direction of the tunnel, “We go left.”

“How do you know that?” Daisy asks.

“If we go right, we’ll either end up under the Houses of Parliament or Westminster Abbey.”

“So left it is,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We walk down the tunnel, avoiding some of the stalactites along the way, with just our light beams to path the way – even though it’s impossible to see the end of the tunnel, such as its length and in the distance seems to curve to the right.

“God, this place gives me the creeps,” Daisy comments, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You can say that again,” I say, shivering – not because I’m cold, because of the eerie feeling that the tunnel is giving.

We continue to walk down the tunnel. A distinct curve is seen along its length, extenuated by red metal pillars. The tunnel feels considerably drier – it’s also a lot dustier and a thin mist of dust forms as we walk.

Despite appearing drier, the occasional mineral feature is observed on the walls and also the metal pillars along with their paintwork in places are starting to show their sixty-odd years of disuse.

After two hundred metres of walking, the tunnel stops and we arrive at a door immediately to our right. Once we open it, we walk down a short corridor that leads us to two steep-looking spiral staircases – one going up, the other going down (probably down to another part of the shelter). In the centre of the spiral staircases is a void, encased in a metal mesh, which would have originally been occupied by a lift. I mean it’s not like there’ll be one right now – this place has being abandoned for nearly seventy years.

“Looks like we’ll be taking that stairs,” says Blane. “Last one at the top is a loser!”

He starts racing up the spiral staircase. Rose, Daisy and I glance at one another and roll our eyes, but we quickly follow behind.

It’s a lengthy climb as we ascend up the steep steps, but at the same time it’s a great workout for toning muscles. I can feel my legs and bum tightening up already.

Up and up and up and up the stairs we go – and then after climbing over two hundred steps, we reach the top of the staircase.

“God, I’m knackered,” Rose gasps.

“I’ll never go to another step class again,” Daisy moans.

“What are you two talking about? That was great, especially the steepness of the stairs – excellent for toning up your legs and bum.”

“All right, guys, enough chit-chat. Let’s keep moving,” I say, though I am a bit shattered and slightly breathless after climbing up all those stairs.

On leaving the lift area, it becomes immediately apparent that although this place has long since finished being used as a shelter, the location has found a new use. It seems that it has become the subterranean hell that all cardboard boxes go to when they die. There are boxes everywhere! The entire complex is today being used to store paper documents in literally thousands of cardboard boxes. It seems ironic that in the digital age we’re living, the entire contents of all the documents stored in the over eight hundred metres of tunnels of this complex can probably be stored on a single hard drive!

Immediately to our right, having left the lift shaft area is a doorway… but it’s bricked up.

“Great – a dead end,” says Daisy. “Now what?”

I approach the bricked-up wall. I reach out and knock on it. The wall sounds hollow.

“Hmmmm,” I say. I clench my fist and I beat it so hard against the brickwork. Suddenly, the wall slides open with a loud creak to reveal a whole other room.

“No way,” Rose whispers. “It’s a secret door.”

I stride through and enter the next room, with Rose, Blane and Daisy close behind.

The room is empty, but completely empty – there’s an old desk, with stacks of old computer monitors, cardboard boxes wrapped in twine and a nest of cables running along the wall, multiple widths and colours. I head to the switch next to the door on the other side of the room and turn the lights on.

Daisy takes off her helmet. “Where are we now?” she asks.

“It looks like some sort of storage room,” says Blane, taking off his helmet.

“Not just any old storage room – an _MI9_ storage room,” says Rose, showing us a document with MI9’s logo on the letterhead. “This is the basement.”

“That explains the tunnels filled with boxes – they ran out of space in here,” I say. “Anyway, now that we’re finally inside MI9, we should find the Phillips guy and stop him from opening the vault.”

“If we knew where he was,” says Daisy. “We wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I think I can solve that problem,” says Rose. “Blane, pass me that cable over there.”

Blane fetches the cable that Rose was pointing at as she picks up an old monitor and puts it on the desk. Rose takes the cable that Blane placed on the desk and starts stripping it.

We watch in silent puzzlement as Rose, confident and controlled, hooks the monitor up to the cable. She uses the other cables along the wall and begins stripping them.

“Turn that on,” she instructs, pointing to the computer she picked up.

I turn on the monitor, but there’s static on the screen. Rose begins touching cable to cable and as she does, brief images flashes onscreen of MI9’s surveillance cameras, including Zeke’s workspace.

“You’ve tapped into the surveillance system,” says Daisy, impressed.

Rose continues to touch the wires to a series of main lines. Each one affords a different view of empty office spaces and corridors – most are crawling with armed men. We’ve also got audio, but at the moment there isn’t any sound to hear.

“There are over six hundred cameras hidden throughout MI9,” Rose tells us. She connects to another camera feed. The screen on the monitor switch to one of the meeting rooms – and what we see on the monitor is not a pretty one.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

Frank, Oscar, Carrie, Stark and the other agents are in the meeting room – their arms bound – sitting on the floor, guarded at gunpoint by men in black military uniform. They look OK, which is more than what I can say for Director Fairchild. She’s at the front of the room, her wrist tied to the arms of the chair… and she looks totally messed up. Her left eye is bruised and puffy, there’s a graze on her cheek and a trickle of blood is oozing from her split lip and her right cheek. She’s being smacked around by a man in a very sharp suit. I don’t need three guesses to work out who that is.

“Casper Phillips,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes and taking in the sight of the man whose arse I’m going to kick once I come face to face with him.

“Come on, Frannie; just give me the combination code. You know you want to,” says Phillips. “Give me the code and I’ll stop smacking you silly.”

Director Fairchild stares hard at Phillips. “You know that’s never going to happen, Phillips,” she says.

He grabs a fistful of the director’s hair and gets right up close in her face.

“You know, Frannie, my patience is becoming a bit like Prince William’s hair – it’s wearing thin. You either give me the code or I will beat you to a limp, bruised, bloody pulp.”

She remains silent.

“Actually, you know what? I’m not gonna beat you senseless – I’m going to do something much worse than that.” Phillips turns to one of the guards. “Get the equipment and strap it on her.”

The guard salutes and picks up a duffel bag by the door and places it on the table. He opens it up and takes out an electronic box of sorts.

While the guard prepares to enable the machine, Phillips take out a walkie-talkie from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Yo, Benny, what’s up? Where are we? I need status!” he says.

“Almost done drilling, then we’ll start packing explosives…” I hear a voice over the radio.

“Rose, switch the monitor to the vault,” I say.

She hurriedly touches the cable to different main lines. Areas of MI9 flash onscreen. We keep looking at the screen until we come across the one we want.

“There!” I say, pointing at the screen.

The monitor shows a heavy security door with two people standing outside it. One is a weird and wild looking man, with long and tangled black hair, several strands threaded with beads. He looks like a pirate. The other is a tall, dark-haired man with a narrow face and pointed chin who’s still on his walkie-talkie. Gee, I wonder who that could be. I can see that there are already holes bored into the door. They must have used a diamond-tipped drill.

“…we should be in the vault room in twenty minutes,” Benny tells Phillips before switching off his radio and pocketing it.

Pirate Man kneels down and from his duffel bag he gently removes four sticks of plastic explosives, and starts packing the explosives in the holes of the door.

“I’ve seen enough of this,” I say, turning my back on the screen. “So the situation is this: we have about twenty minutes to stop this Casper Phillips dude and his not-so merry men from accessing the vault. At the same time, we need to save our friends and colleagues. On top of that, we need to deactivate the C-4 explosives hidden within the building _–_ while avoiding the millions of guards that are patrolling the corridors. The odds are against us…” I turn to the team with a cocky smile playing over my face, “and that’s just the way I like it. I don’t know about you but I’m up for the challenge. Question is are you?”

“I am!” says Blane.

“Count me in!” says Daisy.

“As you would say, Jenny, let’s rock and roll,” says Rose.

“That’s the spirit,” I say. “But before we go, I think a change in outfit is in order.” With my watch-communicator I change from my aquatic flight suit into my ordinary spy outfit. Rose follows suit and changes into her spy outfit.

“And as for you two…” I use my watch-communicator to change Blane and Daisy into their very own spy outfits.

For Blane he’s wearing black skinny jeans, a black turtleneck with a black collarless and sleeveless leather tunic jacket, and black knee-high boots. And as for Daisy, she’s wearing a black skintight catsuit with a black leather jacket on top with the sleeves rolled up. She also has on black leather fingerless gloves, black knee-length high-heel boots and a black belt with a silver buckle bearing MI9’s logo.

“Omigosh, I love it!” Daisy squeals, hugging me. “This look is absolutely perfect, Jen! I look so good.”

“Yeah, you do,” says Blane, checking out her bottom. But then he registers a double take. “I mean…” he clears his throat, “yeah – I look good, too. Thanks, Jen.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “Now that we’re sorted out with outfits, we need to go to the Gadget Room to arm ourselves. So let’s head there first.”

The young spies and I leave the basement and head down the corridor to the elevator at the end of the passage. As the lift takes us up, a thought occurs to me – what if the lift doors open and the guards are on that floor? I tell Rose, Daisy and Blane to hold hands. I can see Blane and Daisy are reluctant but they hold hands, their cheeks going red as they do so which I think is quite sweet. Anyway after I take Rose’s hand, I use my watch-communicator to activate the cloaking device, rendering us invisible.

The lift pings open when we get to the fifth floor and just as I suspected, three guards are standing in the corridor. The men, curious, start approaching the lift, giving us time to exit the elevator. One of the men aims his gun in the lift. He steps inside and checks the roof panel in the lift to see if it’s being tampered with. The man steps out of the lift and shrugs his shoulders to his colleagues and they go back to monitoring the corridor.

Mentally sighing in relief, I lead the team down the maze of corridors – our hands still held together – passing guard after guard. I’ve got to admit I’ve done some challenging missions, but this is the most hardcore mission I’ve have ever accepted doing. It’s also the scariest one because we’ve only got one shot at it. If we get caught, then it’s game over.

We turn right at the end of a long corridor when we stop. Standing at one of the doors are two guards. They’re standing outside the door of the Gadget Room.

“Shit,” I curse quietly.

“What’s going on?” Rose whispers.

“Two men are guarding the Gadget Room. There’s no way we can get to through that door without arousing suspicion. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Blane asks.

“I may have an idea about how to lure them away,” I say. “It’s risky, but I don’t think we have much of a choice.” I spot the toilets not too far from where we are. A sly smile spreads slowly over my face. “Oh yeah – I think it just might work. Huddle up, team.”

The trio crowd together as I tell them the plan. As I said it’s risky because if I get caught, they’ll be on their own. So this has to work.

After telling them the plan, I hand Rose my watch-communicator, making my body visible. I take deep breaths to compose myself, and then unzip the front of my catsuit, showing a little too much cleavage. After fluffing up my hair, I turn the corner – and the sex appeal.

“Well, hello, sexy boys,” I say in a husky and erotic voice. I walk towards them, my hips wiggling back and forth.

The men turn and see me. They point their guns at me.

“Who are you?” one of the guards asks. He’s tall and slender with black hair and green eyes.

“Who, me?” I say innocently. “Oh, I’m just that something special that your leader Casper Phillips sent as a present to you guys for doing such a grand job.”

“Really?” says the other guard, slightly lowering his gun to check me out. He’s Asian – like Rose – with brown eyes and long eyelashes. “Phillips certainly has good taste.” He lowers his gun as his gaze slowly slides over my curves as if he has x-ray vision. “ _Very_ good, taste.”

I resist the urge to throw up. This guy’s tongue is practically hanging down to his knees.

“You know, I could do with a five-minute break,” says the Asian.

“We’re supposed to be guarding the door,” the dark-haired man tells his partner.

“Oh come on, it’s not like anyone is going to break in here. One half is stuck in the office and the other half are back on the boat. Besides, look at those hips. There is most definitely junk in that trunk.”

The raven-haired guard looks me up and down, taking in every single detail. After a few seconds, he lowers his gun.

“I’ve got to admit she is bloody gorgeous,” says the green-eyed guard. He sighs in defeat. “OK, Raj. You win. Let’s have fun with her.”

A slow smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Sweet,” I say. “But not out here – we don’t want your friends getting a bit of the action, do we?”

“Then where do you suggest we should go?” Raj asks.

“Follow me,” I say with a wink.

I turn my back to them, my round bottom taunting them, and I lure the guards away from the door and lead them to the ladies’ toilets.

“Bathroom sex, eh? Kinky,” says Raj. “All right, let the fun begin.” He and his raven-haired friend try to make a grab at me, when I stop them.

“Not so fast, boys. First I want you to strip for me,” I say. “I like to see what I’m working with.”

A nervous laugh escapes the dark-haired man, but Raj practically tears off his clothes and kicks them to the side, standing in only his briefs. (I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from laughing.) His partner finally gives in and strips down to his boxers.

“OK, babe, that’s our side of the bargain done,” says Raj. “Your turn.”

“Of course,” I say. “But I wanna surprise you guys, so close your eyes – and no peeking.”

They shut their eyes obediently. I zip up my catsuit to make them think that I’m unzipping.

“OK, boys. On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes,” I say. “Ready?”

“Ready,” they say.

“One, two, three.”

Just as they open their eyes, the guards start to shake around as if in terrible pain. Five seconds later they collapse on the floor, their bodies still quivering uncontrollably.

“I’d rather sleep with a corpse than get into a threesome with you two losers,” I say. “Deactivate cloaking device.”

Suddenly Rose, Daisy and Blane become visible, with Rose and Daisy holding Lipstick Stun Guns.

“I can’t believe these two thought they were gonna get lucky,” says Blane, looking down at the trembling guards. “Still, it got them away from the door.”

“Yeah – great plan, Jen,” says Rose. “Anyway, here’s your watch-communicator.”

“And here’s your Lipstick Stun Gun,” says Daisy.

I wave my hand away after taking back my watch-communicator. “Keep it. I have a drawerful of them at home. It won’t even be missed. Now let’s tie these two up.”

Blane and I drag the guards’ bodies to the sinks and I use my handcuffs from my utility belt to secure their wrists to the pipes under the sink. Then I tied a piece of cloth over their mouths.

“Right,” I say, dusting my hands, “let’s get into the Gadget Room before they put new guards at the door.”

We leave the scantily clad men in the bathroom and head for the Gadget Room. I take out my personal ID card from my belt and swipe it through the wall mounted keycard reader. After the _beep_ is heard, the two panels on the door slide open and we enter the room.

After the doors close behind us, the lights automatically flicker on. The room is furnished with shelves filled with various gadgets, prototypes and weapons.

“OK, guys. Let’s go shopping,” I say. “Remember to pick the most practical gadget.”

The team spread out to look for the appropriate gadgets for the mission, while I head to the weapons section at the back of the room. I scout the shelves, looking for something that we can arm ourselves properly with in case the gadgets fail.

Then I see it. I go over to the guns displayed in a glass case against the wall. Inside one of the cases are ten pistols. Underneath there’s a label that reads, _Paralyzing Stun Gun – Fires a projectile that administers a voltage capable of rendering the assailant unconscious and paralyzed for one hour._

“Cool,” I say.

The case is locked with a padlock – but not for long. I take out my Laser Lipstick and activate it. The red beam eats through the bolt in seconds. I remove the padlock, open the case and take a gun out. After checking to see if there are bullets in the pistol, I tuck the fireman in my belt and take out three more guns. I close the case and hurry back to the team – but not before I pick up some gadgets of my own: the Mini Bombs and four Shield Pins.

“Sorry I took so long,” I say. “I was just getting these.” I hold up pistols. “Don’t worry, they’re non-lethal – they’re used to temporarily paralyze people. But only use these as a last resort.”

“Awesome,” says Blane, taking the gun and posing like James Bond. Then he tucks the pistol in the holster attached to his thigh. “Sorry.”

“That’s all right… _Mr. Bond_ ,” I say with a smile. “I also picked these lapel pins. Press the pin and your clothes will stiffen up and become hard as steel, making it bulletproof.” The spies take the pins and attach it on their clothes. “How did you guys do?”

“I picked up this.” Blane holds up the Instant Freeze Cologne. “This will stop them in their tracks.”

“I went and got this.” Rose holds up an electromagnetic pulse weapon. “It’s called Quick Slick – it fires an oil slick.”

“Impressive,” I say. “What about you, Daisy?”

She holds up a round, metallic object the size of a tennis ball. “It’s a Smoke Grenade,” she says. “So we can make a quick getaway.”

“That’s great – really great choice of gadgets. Right,” I look at my watch, “we have exactly ten minutes to make our way to the vault. Let’s head down there.”

“Just one quick question – how exactly are we gonna stop Phillips from accessing the vault?”

“I’ve got a solution to that,” says Rose. “I remember visiting Zeke at his workspace a couple of weeks ago, and he was working on a scrambling device for an agent who was supposed to travel Taiwan sometime in the New Year. If we can get to the device and use it on the vault door…”

“Then it can stop Phillips from opening the door,” Blane finishes. “So even if he does get the code, the vault will not open.”

“Exactly.”

“Good thinking, Rose,” I say. “Zeke’s workroom is not far from us – it’s a floor below. But how can we get there? We can’t leave the room through the doors in case there might be guards outside…”

“How about that?” says Daisy, pointing to a ceiling vent in the middle of the room.

“Daisy, you’re a genius!” I head over to the vent. “Mmm, it’s a bit high. Blane, get over here.”

Blane strides over to me. I squat down.

“Get on my shoulders,” I tell him.

Blane straddles on my neck and sits on my shoulders. I wrap my arms around his legs and I steadily stand up.

“OK, Blane, can you reach the vent?” I ask.

After hearing grunts and groans, he says, “Yeah – got it.”

I hear the grille of the vent being pulled away. Then some grunts as Blane climbs into the vent – using his feet to climb onto my shoulders. My shoulders do become lighter when Blane finally climbs into the vent.

“I’m in,” he says.

“Nice work,” I say to him. I turn to Rose and Daisy. “Right, who’s next?”

Rose steps up to the plate. I squat down as she climbs on my back. We hold hands as she climbs onto my shoulders and crouches to maintain balance. I slowly stand up straight. Once I’m up, Rose stands up and is pulled into the vent by Blane.

The same routine is done by Daisy. She climbs and stands on my shoulder and is hauled in by Blane and Rose.

Just me left now. How am I getting up there?

I look around the room to see what I can use to get into the vent. I spot a chunky bracelet on one of the shelves and head over to it. I take the bracelet – a Wrist-Mounted Grappler. I slip the gadget on my wrist and rush over to the vent.

“Make way, guys!” I tell the team. I point the bracelet in the vent and I press the green button on the side. A cable deploys itself from the bracelet and fires into the vent. I press the blue button of the other side of the bracelet and I feel myself being pulled up into the vent.

After I’m reeled in, I climb inside the vent and pull at the cable, freeing it from the metallic surface that it was attached to. Then I grab the grille and set it back in place.

“Wrist-Mounted Grappler, never leave home without it,” I say, jangling the bracelet in front of the young spies’ faces. “Now, let’s head down to Zeke’s workshop.”

“I’ve got a map on my Spy-Pod on where to go so I’ll lead the way,” says Rose, and starts crawling, with the rest of us following.

Hold on, everyone. Soon, the team and I will stop Phillips, and we’ll save all of you – even you, Stark.

As we crawl through the vents, my mind wonders to when one of Phillips’ men got that machine out from the duffel on the security feed. I wonder what it was. Whatever that device is, I just hope it’s not as bad as being beaten to a pulp.

Though I get the feeling that it’s going to be worse than a beating.

A whole lot worse.

**(Frank’s POV)**

This has been the most agonizing twenty minutes ever. It’s incredibly painful watching the head of an intelligence agency being tortured by a former operative and there’s nothing we can do about it because there are guns trained at us. It’s bad enough watching Phillips beat Director Fairchild senseless, but it’s even worse watching her being tortured by electrocution.

“AAAAAAGH!” Director Fairchild screams, seizing in pain by Phillips’ electroshock therapy machine.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Frannie,” he says, turning the machine off. “Just tell me the combination code and I’ll stop.”

The director coughs. “N-never…” she says weakly.

Phillips turns the machine on again and tortures Director Fairchild further.

“AAAAAAAGH!” she screams and contorts.

“How about now? Are you gonna give me the code now, Frannie?” he asks, switching the machine off again.

The director is coughing and gasping. I don’t think she can last much longer.

“I’m… never… going… to… tell you… anything,” she whispers in a raspy voice. “So… you may as well… kill me.”

Phillips gets close to the director. “Now where’d the fun be in that? Besides, you’re much too fun to kill.”

There’s a knock at the door and two men enter. One of them looks like an extra from _Pirates of the Caribbean_ – he’s slender with brown eyes and has black dreadlocked hair, adorned with all manner of beads and trinkets. While the other man is tall and slender – almost skeletal – with pale skin and bulging distended eyes. He could pass off for Cruella De Vil’s brother.

“We’re in, boss,” says Cruella’s brother.

“Excellent.” Phillips smiles. He turns to Director Fairchild. “All right, Frannie, here’s the deal: we got the vault room open. Very nice – I’m proud of my team. I put them together myself – they rock, there’s no other way to say it, OK. So now, two things: one, if you don’t give me the vault codes, we have the tech to get in anyway, it’ll just take a while. Right? It’s like a crock pot. But I need a microwave and that’s you. And two, you give me the codes… I won’t have to torture you anymore. This would be _really_ excellent for you.”

Director Fairchild stares at Phillips. Then she says, “I can’t be the first person… who has difficulty taking you seriously.”

Phillips looks at the director for a moment. We can all see for a flash that this actually annoys him.

“OK, we’re gonna play a new game” he counters. “If you don’t give ne the vault codes…” He looks over at us, “I’ll have one of your agents killed. How about that? They’re always willing to die for Queen and country, aren’t they?” He walks up to Stark and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. “How about I kill Stark? I always hated him. I mean look at him – he’s a smarmy, brown-nosing, grade-A arse-kisser. Seriously, Stark, how many cocks did you suck to become Chief Agent? Huh? Huh?”

Stark doesn’t say anything. In fact he can’t say anything because he’s been too busy snivelling, snorting and crying like a helpless baby.

“You are so pathetic, Stark,” Phillips hisses lowly in Stark’s ear. “Always have been, always will be.” Then he forces Stark on the floor and walks off as what is supposed to be our Chief Agent is crying even harder than before.

Phillips continues to search around the room… and spots me, Oscar and Carrie.

His lips curve into a devious smile as Phillips makes his way over to us. He bends down and grabs Oscar and Carrie by the arms, and pulls them to their feet.

“How about this, Frannie? How about I kill your little spy kids?” says Phillips. “Can you live with that on your conscience?” He tightens his grip on Oscar and Carrie. “I wonder who I should kill first. How about the boy?” He eyes up Oscar. “Nah. He’s doesn’t look like someone who’ll scream and beg for mercy. The girl on the other hand…” Phillips eyes up Carrie and licks his lips. “Yes… she’ll do very nicely.”

Phillips shoves Oscar on the ground and drags Carrie across the room.

“No! No, Carrie!” Oscar cries. He stands up and takes a few steps forward, but the guards aim their guns at him.

“I’d sit down if I were you, boy,” says Phillips. “Not unless you want a bullet in your head.”

Oscar stands where he is for a few seconds. Then he retreats back to his place on the floor.

Satisfied, Phillips takes Carrie to the front of the room. She tries to wriggle and dodge once or twice, but Phillips grasps her arm so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“All right, Frannie,” he says. “I’m giving you one last chance to tell me what the code to the vault is. Because if you don’t…” he leans close to Carrie, “my men are going to take this young spy into an empty office room… and they’ll rape her.”

My eyes widen in sheer horror.

“What?!” Casey exclaims.

“No!” Carrie cries, struggling.

“And you wouldn’t like that… would you, Frannie?” Phillips continues. “Letting my men force themselves into this lovely, attractive and” – he sniffs Carrie’s hair – “scrumptiously delicious berry-flavoured young lady. Making her feel ashamed, foolish… humiliated. Their cocks buried deep in her virginal, pink pussy; her tight, puckered arse and down her warm, wet mouth as she cries in panic and terror and shame, wishing she was dead. And in the end, she’ll get that wish. Because when they’re finished with her… they’ll shoot her dead. They’ll shoot her _after_ she’s dead, and they’ll keep shooting her until there’s nothing left to shoot. And then we’ll send her remains to her family – in a shoebox. I can already picture the look on her dear mother’s face when she opens the box… and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. What a Christmas present that will be. And it’ll be your entire fault, Frannie. But it doesn’t have to be like that – just tell me the code and I’ll let the girl go. But if you don’t… everything that I just said will be played in real time. So, the choice is yours. What do you care about more – the code or the girl?”

Director Fairchild is silent, figuring out what to do. Either she gives Phillips the code and he lets Carrie go – even though he’ll end up killing her anyway. Or she refuses and Phillips’ men drag Carrie away and force her to have sex against her will and kill her, and Phillips ends up killing Director Fairchild and the rest of us.

A whole minute goes by.

“OK, then,” says Phillips. “Gentlemen, she’s all yours.”

He shoves Carrie into the group of men. Their eyes are dark and delirious with lust as they grab Carrie and start to drag her away.

“No! No! Let go of me!” Carrie shrieks. “Let me _go_! _Let me go!_ ”

“Carrie!” Oscar and I scream, getting onto our feet.

“Sit down! Or I’ll have you both shot!” Phillips shouts.

“Frank! Oscar! Help! Help me!” Carrie screams.

“Casper, stop this! This has gone too far!” Casey cries.

“You shut up! Otherwise I’ll have you shot as well,” Phillips warns.

“Help! Help! Help me, someone!” Carrie screams again. “ _Help!_ ”

“Stop!” Director Fairchild demands suddenly. Even though she’s still weak, her voice is loud enough for everyone to hear. Phillips turns to her.

“Yes, Frannie – do you have something to say?”

“You win, Phillips. I’ll give you the code.”

“What’s that, Frannie?” He cups his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?”

“I said I’ll give you the damn code,” she says a little bit loudly.

An annoying self-satisfied smile appears on Phillips’ face. “Good.” He turns to his men. “Let the girl go. Now!”

The men reluctantly unhand Carrie, and she runs back to me and Oscar, her eyes filled with tears. Several spill over and dribble down her cheeks.

When Carrie runs back into us, she’s gasping and sobbing.

“It’s OK, Carrie. It’s OK,” Oscar tells her.

Carrie burrows against him and cries harder. We may be OK now, but what happens when Phillips gets the code, enters the vault and helps himself to what’s inside?

“…twelve, two, four and ten,” says Director Fairchild, giving Phillips the combination.

“And ten. Great. Outstanding,” he says, writing the numbers down on a piece of paper.

Then in one motion, Phillips drops his pen, revs up the machine and switches it on.

“ _AAAAAAAAAGH!_ ” Director Fairchild screams in agony. Her body jerks against the restraints as the shocks tear through her body.

“Nice try, Frannie, on giving me a sequence of numbers like it’s the National Lottery!” says Phillips. “Now how about giving me the _real_ combination?”

“GWAAAAARGH!”

“Casper, stop it! You’re gonna kill her!” Casey cries.

“I can go on all night, you know,” says Phillips, ignoring his accomplice. “And until you give me the real combination, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“GWAAAGH! WAAAAAAAUGH! OK! OK, I’ll tell you! _I’ll tell you!_ ” Director Fairchild screeches.

The machine goes off.

“You’ll tell me the _real_ combination?” Phillips asks.

The director nods weakly, and tells the ex-agent the real combination code to the vault.

“…eleven, eight, twenty-five and forty-nine,” she finishes quietly.

“Thank you, Frannie,” says Phillips, writing the numbers down again. He squeezes her arm. “See? _That_ wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He turns to the pirate man and Cruella’s brother. “Let’s boogie, boys.”

He leaves the room with the two men, leaving us with the armed guards. I look over to Director Fairchild. Her face is pale and strained. She’s exhausted and drowsy… barely able to keep her eyes open.

There’s a part of me that’s thinking there isn’t anyone to save us – they probably perished in the explosion that Phillips placed on the yacht. But there’s a small part of me that’s hoping that someone – _anyone_ – will come to the rescue and save us from the lunatic.

Whoever that person or people are…

…you’re our only hope.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

After ten minutes of crawling, we finally reach Zeke’s workshop. But we have to hurry – along the way, we heard an explosion so fierce that the vent we were crawling through shook. That means that Benny and his pirate friend must have blown the vault and its surroundings.

After peering through the grille to see if we’re in the right place, I use my feet to kick the grille in. It comes away easily, falling to the ground with a _crash_. I hold my breath, hoping that no-one outside the workspace heard anything.

Sighing in relief, I dangle my legs out of the square hole and I lower myself into the room. I drop down to the desk below and land, cat-like, on the balls of my feet. I catch Rose as she lowers herself into the room, followed by Daisy, but Blane helps himself down and like me, he drops from the vent and lands on his feet.

The room is dark, but I activate the light feature on my watch-communicator.

“So what does this scrambler look like, Rose?” I ask, swinging the light around the room.

“It’s like a small, round compact. You know, like the cosmetic product,” she says. “And it’s magnetic.”

We begin looking for where Zeke may have kept the compact – drawers, cupboards, shelves and desks. But with so much junk in the room, it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

“Hey – I think I found it!” says Daisy after a few minutes of searching. She holds up a small round metal case.

Rose goes to her to check for herself.

“Yep – that’s it. Good work, Daisy,” says Rose.

“Great. Now that we’ve got the scrambler, let’s get out of…” says Blane, but stops when we hear a voice outside.

“I could have sworn I just heard someone, Terry.”

“Hide!” I tell the trio. But there are so many tools and junk in this room that there’s nowhere to hide, so they get behind the desk, out of view.

I, on the hand, switch off the light and head for the door. I stand with my back against the wall next to the door, and I draw my Paralyzing Stun Gun.

“Activate cloaking device,” I whisper into watch-communicator, and my body becomes invisible.

The plan is that whoever comes through the door and searches the room, they’ll get the element of surprise when – invisible – I shoot them with the PSG. Then the team and I will tie the person up, gag them and hide their body, giving us the opportunity to escape. But at the same time, if this Terry guy comes in here and sees his partner bound and gagged, then the alarm will be raised and sooner or later, the team and I will be caught, and it’ll be over.

I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

“Seriously, Tel, I heard noises coming from this room,” says the voice, getting nearer now. A silhouette of him appears on the window of the door.

My heart starts thudding. I breathe out so deeply my nostrils quiver.

The door creaks open.

Even though I’m invisible, I try not to twitch. I breathe in and out, in and out, in and out…

A man peaks his head in the room. He’s very near me. His head is so close I can feel his breath on me. He looks around. Then he opens the door completely, steps into the room and swings the torch around.

I hope Rose, Daisy and Blane are OK. Just stay where you are, guys. Don’t any of you dare move or make a peep in case Terry’s partner finds where you’re hiding. Just stay in exactly the same position; quiet, cramped and uncomfortable, until he leaves the room.

“Huh. I must be hearing things,” says the man. He exits the room, shutting the door behind him and douses the light. I hear him walking away, telling Terry he was right – his mind was playing tricks on him.

I don’t dare move a muscle until the footsteps have completely disappeared.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say, and my body becomes visible. “It’s OK, guys. You can come out now.”

The silhouettes of Rose, Daisy and Blane pop out from behind the desk.

“That… was way too close,” says Rose.

“I’ve never being so scared in my life,” says Blane.

“My inside still hurt,” says Daisy. “It’s as if someone has taken my intestines and tied knots up and down them, like a string of sausages.”

“I must admit, I was totally bricking it,” I say, tucking my gun back in my belt. “Look, it seems risky for all of us to head to the vault in case we get caught out. We might have been lucky now, but next time they may end up killing us. So I think it’ll be better if one of us went.”

“I’ll do it,” Rose offers. “I’m the only one who knows how to work the device. And if I do get caught, I know that you guys will be the ones to save me.”

I nod in agreement. “Then it’s settled. Rose will go to the vault while the rest of us stay here. Good luck, Rose.”

“Good luck, Rose,” says Blane and Daisy, hugging her.

“Be careful,” Daisy adds.

“I will,” says Rose. She goes over to the desk, takes out her Paralyzing Stun Gun and the Quick Slick and places them on the counter. Then she climbs onto the table. I follow suit and I crouch down, while Rose climbs onto my shoulders. I slowly and steadily stand up, and Rose climbs into the vent (she did that by climbing onto my shoulders) and starts to crawl through the duct to the vault.

xxoOoxx

Five minutes have passed.

During that time, Blane, Daisy and I have been (quietly) exploring the workshop. I read through some of the notes that Zeke has written down. Some have really complicated calculations written down and others had words so long I can’t pronounce them, so I leave the notes alone and head to the shelves to read one of the books.

While I flick through the pages, I glance at Blane who is checking himself out using the computer monitor… but he’s not examining his hair or checking for spots. It’s only when I get close to him that I find out why he’s looking at the blank screen – he’s checking out Daisy’s arse!

I roll my eyes and shake my head, but stop when a thought comes to me.

I can use this opportunity to see if I can get one of them to confess their feelings to the other. I think some light-hearted entertainment is needed for this miserable night.

I sidle up to Blane and look at the black screen of the computer to check out the back of Daisy.

“She does have a nice arse, doesn’t she?” I murmur, and Blane jumps.

“Holy sh…” he says, starting, but I put my hand over his mouth to stop him from screaming.

I raise a finger to my lips. “Sh-h-h-h! We don’t want Daisy finding out what you’ve been up to, do we?” I whisper.

“I-it’s not what it looks like,” Blane stammers. “I was just… I was just, um…”

I cross my arms over my chest and cock an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Blane sighs in defeat. “OK, OK. I… may have been… checking out… Daisy’s… arse,” he says quietly.

“Like you were in the storage room earlier?” I say, and Blane nods. “I knew it! You like her, don’t you?”

The pinkness on Blane’s cheeks said it all.

“I’ve liked her since I was teamed up with her and Rose during our MI High days,” he says. “She’s beautiful and attractive, but…”

“But what?”

“But at the same time, she can be bossy, arrogant… bitchy.” (He whispers that last one.) “And she acts the ever-so-superior, just because she comes from a rich family.”

“Was she ever like that back at St Hope’s?”

“All the time. She hung out with the popular crowd, attended parties, and was known to be vicious and petty to the unfortunates at the bottom of the ‘popularity food chain’, like me, Rose and my mate, Stewart.”

“Is she still like that now?”

“Well… not really, no.”

“Of course not – she didn’t mean to be malicious and spitefully towards you and any of the unpopular kids. She only did those things to save face. You know inside that Daisy is a sweet, kind and generous girl.”

“Mmm, yeah, I suppose so.”

“And as for the ‘ever-so-superior’ act… I don’t think she does that to rub it in your face. I think she does that because it’s a defence mechanism.”

“A defence mechanism?”

I nod. “Like you said, she comes from a rich family. And just because she’s rich, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have problems. Unlike you, Blane, she wasn’t brought up by loving parents. Her parents were and still are too busy to spend time with her – she only had butlers and maids. She masks her loneliness up by being haughty and proud while being with the popular crowd.”

Blane takes a long look at Daisy. Her back is still to us as she takes one of the books from the shelf and flicks through it.

“Huh. I never thought of it like that,” says Blane.

“There may also be another reason why Daisy is like that with you,” I say.

“Why?”

“Duh! Isn’t it obvious? Daisy _likes_ you.”

His soft brown eyes twinkle. “Really?”

I roll my eyes. “Double duh! Can’t you see it? The way she acts cold and hostile towards you if you acted foolish or clowned around. The way she often criticizes you in one way or another – bonus points if she calls you an idiot for not understanding her feelings outside your earshot. She does that because she isn’t sure how to convey her feelings properly. And let’s not forget how jealous she was when you mentioned that Irena girl earlier tonight on the _St Katherine_ , and when she denied liking you when you teased her about it – even though it’s a bit hypocritical for you to do so, considering that you like her, too. You and she are _tsundere_.”

“What?”

“It’s a Japanese word. It refers to someone who acts annoyed or uninterested around the other person, but in reality they’re quite fond of that person, which is what you two are. And quite frankly, most of us are getting a little bit sick and tired of the will-they-won’t-they scenario. So before this night is over, you’re going to go up to Daisy, man up and confess your feelings to her, otherwise I’m gonna knock both your heads together and I’m not gonna stop until you one of you says that you like the other. OK?”

Blane stares at me, stunned. Then after a long silence, he wraps his arms around me and hugs me. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for saying that, Jen. I needed that kick in the backside. I can see why Frank wants to marry you.”

I feel my cheeks go red, and I hug him back.

“What’s going on here?” Daisy asks, coming up to us. “Why are you two hugging?”

Blane opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“We were comforting each other,” I lie. “I was thinking about what was happening to Frank, Carrie, Oscar and everybody else upstairs with that Phillips guy. And I was wondering what would happen if Phillips got his hands on the combination to the vault…”

“But I told her that wouldn’t happen,” Blane chimes in. “Because Rose will stop Phillips from accessing the vault and when we finally face him, he’s gonna be sorry he ever messed with us. And that’s when we hugged it out.”

“Huh,” says Daisy. “Oh, OK.”

As soon as her back is to us, Blane and I exchange a brief, silent glance and give a nod and a wink.

Just then my watch-communicator vibrates. I answer. “Rose?”

“I’m standing outside the vault,” she says. “The place looks like a bomb site.”

“Hold on. I’ll see it I can get footage of you from the security cameras.”

I quickly tap on the keypads of my watch-communicator and hack into MI9’s security feed. Thank you, Zeke for the basic lesson on hacking.

Footage of the vault shows up… and Rose is right – the room is a disaster area. The explosion has torn out the walls and windows, but the vault is still intact. I can see Rose going over to the vault. She attaches the compact on the door and slides a screen from inside the container. I can make out a toggle switch on the end. She takes hold of it and switches the device on.

“The scrambler is identifying the combination,” says Rose.

While the device is doing that, I switch from the vault to the meeting room where the hostages are.

I can see Frank and Oscar comforting Carrie, and I can see Stark just crying – surprise, surprise. I see Director Fairchild slumped, unconscious, in her chair. But I can’t see Phillips anywhere. I switch between screens, searching for him.

“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” I murmur.

I switch the screen again and I see Phillips on the footage, marching down the corridor with Benny and Pirate Man. He’s holding something in his hand. It looks like a piece of paper…

I gasp. “The combination! He has it!” I switch back to the footage of Rose and the vault. “Rose, you’ve got about one minute to get out of there!”

“Just a sec – the compact has identified the combination,” she says.

I hear the sound of a click. It sounds like the vault door opening. Christ, I hope the building doesn’t blow up.

Just then, Rose presses the activation switch on the compact.

“Scrambling is in progress,” she says.

I switch to the corridor, and there’s a group of men approaching the intersection. They’re littered with debris from the explosion.

“They’re getting closer…” Daisy whispers.

“Thirty seconds, Rose,” I tell her.

The commando team are nearly approaching the intersection.

“Fifteen seconds,” I say.

“Scrambling is still in progress,” says Rose.

Phillips is ten feet from the intersection… nine… eight…

“Rose, get out of there. _Now_ ,” Blane says.

Rose doesn’t move for a moment. Then she says, “Scrambling complete.” And rips the device from the vault, and escapes into the vent… just as Phillips and his men turn the corner and enter the room where the vault is.

I let out a shaky sigh. “Oh, my God, that was close,” I whisper.

Blane, Daisy and I watch on the screen as Phillips types in the code. The look on his face when the computer tells him the combination has failed is priceless.

“Fairchild,” he growls.

“Well done, Rose,” I say to myself. “Now all we have to do is wait for her to come back and…”

“Wait. What is Phillips doing?” says Blane.

Phillips holds up his hand. Then he gets out a handheld device and points it to the vent. He sweeps the device along the wall. Then he stands back… and the commando team open fire!

“Rose!” Blane and I exclaim.

“Oh, my God!” Daisy cries.

We watch on the monitor as Phillips, Benny and Pirate Man stalk the corridor. The device that Phillips is holding is trained along the wall.

“Target out of range, looking to reacquire,” says Benny.

The commando team fire into the wall. Blane, Daisy and I watch in horror as the bullets shred the wall and the duct on the ceiling.

Phillips holds his hand up again and the firing creases.

“Oh, God,” whispers Daisy. “Oh, my God.”

“Rose? Rose, can you hear me?” I say over my watch-communicator.

No reply.

“Come in, Rose. Come in. Do you read me?” I try again.

No answer.

“Rose?” The word comes out tiny and weak.

We wait some more. Listening hard.

But there’s nothing.

Just silence.

“Oh no…” I whisper.

“No, don’t –” Blane starts.

“She’s dead,” says Daisy. “I don’t believe it. Rose is dead.”

She buries her face in her hands and starts sobbing. Blane stomps off and angrily punches the wall.

I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I just stand there, staring at the screen in stunned silence, my fists clenched. This can’t be happening…

But it has happened.

I can’t believe that one of the most brightest, intelligent and quick-witted person I have ever met… is gone.


	44. A Good Day to Spy Hard

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The room starts spinning. I nearly fall over.

Daisy is still crying and Blane is standing in the corner of the room, his fists clenched, trying not to cry.

Rose is _dead_.

No, she can’t be dead. This isn’t real. This can’t be happening. I have to be dreaming. If I close my eyes tight and then open them really really wide I’d wake myself up.

I close my eyes. The room stops whirling. Daisy’s not crying anymore and I can hear Rose’s voice. It _is_ a dream.

I open my eyes wide. But Rose isn’t in the room with us.

I gasp. My eyes are filled with tears. Some start dribbling down my cheeks.

I can’t believe it. Rose is… dead.

But how can she be? I just can’t get my head around it. She was always so bloody brilliant. Rose can’t be dead. She can’t be. She just can’t be…

I gasp again – this time in realization. “That’s because she’s not,” I whisper, and then loudly. “She’s not dead. Rose is not dead!” I do a face palm and groan in frustration. “Agh, how could I be so _stupid_?”

“Huh? Jenny, what’s wrong?” Blane asks.

“Guys, Rose isn’t dead,” I say.

“What? Wha-what are you talking about?” says Daisy, her voice still cracked. “Of course Rose is dead – we just saw a bunch of men shoot the vent she was hiding in!”

“Daisy, I’m telling you, she’s not dead. Know why? Because of this.” I point to the lapel pin on my catsuit.

It’s now Blane’s turn to gasp. “The Shield Pin! I’ve forgotten about that.”

“Of course. Rose must have activated her pin and it hardened her clothes, and any bullets that hit her would have bounced off,” Daisy realizes.

“Exactly. Guys, I’m pretty sure that Rose is very much alive,” I say.

“For now,” says Blane. “Remember, the pin only protects parts of the part that the clothes are on. They can still shoot her in the head.”

“Which is why we need to save her. I think it’s time we came out of the woodwork and show these pricks why they shouldn’t mess with us. Who’s with me?”

“We’re in,” Blane and Daisy chorus.

“Then let’s do it. Get the Quick Slick and follow me.”

Daisy grabs the weapon and follows me and Blane out of the workspace and down the corridor.

We take the stairs rather than the elevator as we wanted to give the guards the element of surprise. As we dash down, I tell Blane and Daisy the plan on how to get the men – and hopefully Phillips – away from Rose’s hiding place.

After making our way down two flights of stairs, we carry on pounding along the corridor, silently ducking and dodging the armed men as we do so. However, we come to a stop and take a step back when we come across a large group of men patrolling the intersection.

“What do we do now?” Daisy asks.

“You let me worry about that,” I say. “You and Blane get yourselves set up. And be careful.”

The two nod in reply and take off to where they need to be. As for me, I take out a small grenade, the size of a ping-pong ball, from my utility belt. I press the button in the centre of the device and roll it on the floor to where the guards are. After five seconds, the grenade detonates, releasing globs of black substances on the men, forcing them back into the walls, which they are then stuck to.

“Argh! What is this stuff?!”

“I can’t move!”

“Someone get this thing off me!”

With them encased in the goo, I turn the corner and dash across the intersection, past the goo-covered men and down the corridor where the vault, the guards, Phillips and Rose are.

I turn the corner and there at the end of the hall is Phillips, with his men, tracing the vent with the handheld device. It makes a _blip_ sound. He picks up the reading as the device keeps blipping – along the duct, over the wall… until he points the device at me.

“Er, hey, guys,” I say, giving a small wave. “I really don’t want to sound childish when I say this but… nah nah nah nah nah, you can’t catch me!”

I blow a raspberry and shoot off in the direction I just came from as Phillips orders his men to go after me.

I fly past the goo-covered men once again and race down the long corridor, my feet clopping like crazy on the uncarpeted, polished floor. The guards are not that far behind. I can hear their feet pounding loudly, sending vibrations through the floor.

I keep running until I turn a corner and skid to a halt. It’s a dead end. I go to one of the office doors and tug on the handle, but it’s locked.

“Come on – open!” I mutter, rattling on another handle.

“There she is!” says a voice.

I look up to see the armed guards, standing at the corner I just turned, blocking my path – and exit. I get into a combat stance hoping I can open a can of whoop-ass on them, but it’s really hard to do that when there are guns pointing at me.

One of the men, who looks much older than the others, smirks at me. “We’ve got you now, girlie,” he says. “Get her!”

The guards move fast, advancing towards me. But suddenly, the men start to slip out of control and skid across the floor… and towards me!

“Uh-oh!” I say – but with startling quickness, I leap upwards and both my legs kick out like snap kicks in opposite directions, holding me between the two walls as I watch the guards slide across the floor and crash into the wall behind me.

“Uuhhnn…” the men groan as they lay on the floor, covered in oil slick that Daisy spilled on the floor with the Quick Slick after I ran past one of the empty offices she’s hiding in.

Just then, Blane emerges from one of the office rooms and sprays the Instant Freeze Cologne on the men, freezing them solid.

“What the…?” The leader of the guards starts – and stops when Daisy comes out from one of the offices and grabs him by the shoulders and knees him in the stomach. She then spins around and elbows him in the stomach and flips him over her shoulder – despite being half the guard’s size! Finally, Blane finishes the guard off by coating him in ice with the Instant Freeze Cologne.

“Nice work, guys!” I say. I drop from the ceiling and land on the ground in a crouching position before standing up, being extra careful not to slip and fall. “And nice ass-whooping, Daisy,” I tell her.

“Thanks!” she smiles in response.

“I hope this has given Rose enough time to get away,” says Blane, slightly worried.

“Me too. Let’s head back to the workspace – that’s where she’ll probably go,” I say.

We start running, away from the guards, all the way down the corridor, with me leading the way. I spot the large EXIT sign hanging over the door and we head towards that. But as I reach out to push the door open, something whistles past my face – missing me by about two inches! – bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor. A few cut strands of my hair blow around in front of my face. I look to the floor to see what very nearly hit me.

A knife!

I look up to the other side to see one of the guards who threw the weapon coming towards us.

“My hair! You snipped my hair! Son of a bitch!” I bring out the Paralyzing Stun Gun and fire. The guard gasps as the bullet hits him in his forehead and he falls back.

“Whoa!” Daisy exclaims.

I hear heavy footsteps. More guards. The gunshot must have alerted them.

“Let’s go!” I say. We shove the door open and start dashing up the stairs, two at a time.

“Remind me to never ruffle anyone’s hair again!” says Blane.

We clatter up the two flights of stairs – and then suddenly stumble upon a guard coming through the door. Unlike the last guard, this one pulls out his pistol. He points the gun at us, ready to shoot.

I run towards him.

Blane is quicker. He whirls his arm and chops him hard on the shoulder with the side of his hand. He swayed, dropping the gun, his mouth open. I take the guard’s gun and I knock him out with the butt of the pistol. Blane and I catch the guard before he falls down the stairs. I take out the zip ties that he has on him and restrain his hands together with it.

“Hands – hold hands!” I tell Blane and Daisy after I place his unconscious body in the corner.

The two spies do what I say and hold hands. I take hold of Daisy’s hand and activate the cloaking device. After our bodies become invisible, we go through the door and run down the corridor, dashing past the guards.

The three of us skid to a halt when we arrive at the door to Zeke’s workshop. I quietly open the door and we creep into the room.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say, and our bodies become visible. I heave a sigh as I press my back against the closed door and slide down to the floor. “That… was a pretty close call. We very nearly got caught there – twice! Anyway, that we’re safe and sound, let’s find out if Rose is…”

We hear a noise above our heads. Sounds like crawling sounds. It’s coming from the vent. I hope it’s Rose but you can never be too sure. I draw my Paralyzing Stun Gun and slowly approach the duct, pointing the pistol at the open black square. If a guard comes poking his head out of the vent, I’ll silence him with the gun. I just hope he doesn’t make a noise as his body crashes to the work desk below.

The crawling is getting closer. The person’s breathing is ragged as they stick their head out of the duct.

“Activate torch,” I say, and the watch-communicator shines a light straight into the person’s face.

“Ah, get that light out of my face – it’s blinding me!” the person says in a familiar voice, their eyes closed and ducking away.

Daisy gasps. “Rose!”

I shine the torch away from Rose’s face and to the ceiling, turning it in an arc as she climbs out of the duct and lands in a crouching position on the work desk before jumping off it.

“Hi!” she says.

“Rose!” The three of us rush over to her and we hug her so hard we nearly fall over.

“Hey, watch it!” she says.

“Oh, Rose!” I say, tears brimming and then spilling down my cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re OK.”

“Me too.”

“So what happened?” Blane asks. “We saw you escape into the vent moments before Phillips and his men arrived, next thing you know he orders his men to start shooting!”

“It was kinda my fault. I tried to stay still for as long as I could after barely getting away. I must have shifted and the scrambler clattered out of my pocket. So I activated the Shield Pin and laid flat on my stomach, with my hands protecting my head, as the men started shooting. Then suddenly, I heard Phillips telling his men to go after someone.”

“It was me,” I say. “I suddenly remembered the Shield Pin that you’ve got on and I thought up a plan to get the guards away from you so you could escape.”

“And I am forever grateful. Thank you, everyone, for risking your lives for me.”

The four of us have another long hug.

“Right,” I say, wiping my tears away, “now that we’ve scrambled the code, we need to find the locations of the C-4s and deactivate them before Phillips’ men open the vault door the old-fashioned way.”

“I’ll hack into MI9’s mainframe to see where the locations are,” says Rose, and she immediately gets to work on her Spy-Pod. After a few minutes, she says, “The C-4s are located in the sub-basement.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” says Blane.

The four of us nod and get on the desk and climb into the vent, crawling away from the workspace to the sub-basement.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been ten minutes since Phillips left for the vault. Carrie has calmed down a bit since her near sexual assault. Oscar has been comforting her, but she’s still pale and jittery, with mascara all down her cheeks.

Director Fairchild is still slumped in her chair. She looks OK, but she’s still weak and delicate, and every once in a while her body keeps twitching and trembling uncontrollably – an after-effect from being electrocuted.

Just then, Phillips and two of his henchmen – Cruella’s brother and the pirate man – come back into the room. Phillips looks annoyed.

“I take it the vault didn’t open?” Casey says drily.

“Some cool customer went and scrambled the vault combination,” Phillips retorts. “And if that’s not bad enough, we’ve got another person running around the building like some headless chicken. And when I get my hands on them, they’re gonna be sorry.” He gets out his walkie-talkie. “Calling all units. It seems we have some uninvited guests roaming around the building. I want you to find the person or persons responsible and I want you to destroy them.” Phillips puts away the walkie-talkie and turns to the two men who came in the room with him. “So how long will it take you to open the vault?”

“The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll know,” Cruella’s brother replies.

Phillips puts his hands together and bows. “I need, like, _awesome_ good news,” he says quietly.

“We know you do.” He and Pirate Man leave the room.

“You know I totally respect what that person did there,” says Phillips. “Scrambling the codes, that was cool. Seriously, that’s what _I_ would’ve done. So yeah, part of me is pissed, but part of me is like… empathetic. But that person’s not stopping anything here – they’ll see that, they’ll check it out, they’ll dig it out.”

He puts his hand under Director Fairchild’s chin and forces her to look at him.

“As bad as you feel right now… All that pain… that was shocking your miserable body… that’s just the pudding next to the pie…” Phillips says.

Director Fairchild is still tired, but she uses all of her inner reserved strength to say, “It’s so easy to blame me… when you know the truth…”

For just a moment Phillips is genuinely shocked – he can’t believe Director Fairchild has the courage to spar with him.

“…that you got your own men killed,” the director continues. “That helicopter waited for you.”

“I had a man down, I was saving Harley’s life, you _knew_ that!” says Phillips.

“At the expense of all the others. They were counting on you to lead them to safety, they trusted their lives to you… and you led them to slaughter.”

Flickers of self-doubt wash over Phillips, but he steels his resolve and reaches for the duffel bag. From the duffel, Phillips pulls out a box. It doesn’t look very special, could be a cigar box – or a sardine can! It looks well-worn – it’s been around. He opens the cover of the box and looks inside. He takes pleasure in looking at what’s inside – at seeing what Director Fairchild doesn’t. And the director can’t help it. Phillips holds the box in front of the director and she glances at it… naturally curious.

After milking it for a moment, Phillips pulls from the box a string of needles – all connected by a red-threaded ‘belt’. There are twenty or so of these needles. They’re big – like the thickest syringe needles you can find. And they all have small red bulb handles at one end, and a razor sharp point at the other.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever regretted being born,” says Phillips. “I mean that’s a real heavy thing to experience: the regret of having emerged from your mother’s womb. I had some dark days, but nothing close to regretting the day I was born… Until I met _Ahgneh-niyeh Eeg-li_. That’s Russian. Means ‘Needles of Fire’.” He pulls a single needle out. “There’s this curry house in Brick Lane, East London. A little Indian restaurant called The Shafi. Nothing special, just an eatery tucked away down in a narrow alley – but they’re famous… for making people cry. You know what makes ‘em cry? The hot and smoky vindaloo. Seriously, you go to the doctor’s after that place. No-one even knows how they make that crap so hot – the lore goes that the Devil drops by once a month to spit in their frying pan. I tried a touch of it on my tongue once… I’ve been knifed in the gut and kept my act together – this spicy curry had me in tears for three days.

“My point is… The Shafi’s hot curry – extra-hot variety? That’s a fluffy vanilla ice cream cone compared to what’s in these needles. Each one feels like you took a bag of red chillies, threw ‘em in a blender and used it for an enema. These needles… are a whole lot of no fun… And you’re gonna get to know ‘em.”

Phillips moves the needle close to Director Fairchild’s neck. The armed men – the ones who are supposed to be the tough guys – look squeamish. Phillips pushes the needle into the director’s neck. Her body jerks against the restraints. She doesn’t scream – but there’s a look of terror on her face I’ve never seen before.

“The powder takes a few minutes to kick in,” says Phillips.

And it seems that he’s true to his word. After a few minutes, Director Fairchild lies in the chair, in ultimate pain – the needle protrudes – muscles twitch – it’s all she can do to keep from howling. Phillips leans in for a close inspection of the contents inside the box and withdraws another needle. Director Fairchild watches this, trying not to beg for mercy.

“The second needle’s the worst, I think,” says Phillips. “It’s like turning up the heat from simmer to high flame.”

He skilfully applies the needle into Director Fairchild’s arm. We can only watch as the she clenches her fists tightly, unwilling to let Phillips break her.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

After spending twenty minutes crawling, climbing and crawling some more through the vents, we finally arrive at the sub-basement. Blane kicks the grille open and climbs out, followed by Rose, Daisy and then me.

“The first C-4 is down this corridor,” says Rose, and darts off towards the location, with Blane, Daisy and I following close behind.

We hurry down the corridor, making a left turn and as we turn the last corner… we suddenly stop dead.

“What the hell?” I say.

“No way,” says Blane.

“Rose, are you sure you followed the directions right?” says Daisy, folding her arms.

“I’m positive,” she retorts. “The C-4 should be right here.”

“But there’s nothing here!”

And Daisy is right – there is nothing here. The corridor is a dead end. In the middle of the wall is a metal plate, attached to the wall by eight steel bolts. On the plate is a warning sticker that reads: _CAUTION: WATER UNDER EXTREME PRESSURE. DO NOT REMOVE_.

But something looks a bit off here. I step closer to the wall and put my ear on the steel.

“What are you doing, Jenny?” Rose asks.

“Shhh,” I say. I rap on the panel with my knuckles and I hear the sound echo through whatever is behind the panel. “Do you hear that?”

I knock on the panel again.

“It sounded… hollow,” says Daisy.

“Exactly – there’s no water pressure behind here,” I say. “The explosive is behind this panel.”

“But how do we get in?” Rose asks.

“I’ve got something.” Blane gets out the Instant Freeze Cologne and aims it at the bolt and whoosh! The bolt is covered in frost. Then crack! He hits the bolt with the butt of the cologne. It crumbles.

“Well, that’s one down, seven to go,” I say. “But we can’t use the cologne to whack the frost-covered bolts – the bottle might break.”

“How about this?” says Daisy, grabbing a fire extinguisher. She pulls the pin, aims at the bolt and freezes it. Then she knocks off bolt number two with the butt of the extinguisher.

I check to see if anyone is around. There’s no-one.

“Keep going,” I tell Daisy.

She repeats the process – aim, freeze and whack, aim, freeze and whack, aim, freeze and whack. Three bolts down. Then bolts four, five and six. Suddenly, when Daisy gets to bolt number seven… _fsssss_. The extinguisher has run out!

“Oh no, no, no!” Daisy cries as the last few foams drip from the nozzle.

“Now what?” Blane says.

We look around, trying to see what we can use to loosen the bolts.

“I’ve got it!” says Rose. I look at what she’s staring at – two one-inch metal pipes going up the wall, floor-to-ceiling.

Rose kicks the pipes – one… two – and they break away from where they’d been welded. As she takes the metal pipes, Rose rips some telecom cables from along the ceiling.

“What is she doing?” Daisy asks.

“Beats me,” I shrug.

The three of us watch Rose use the pipes and the cables to twist and loosen the last two bolts. We stare in amazement as the bolts drop to the ground and Rose removes the panel from the wall and sets it on the ground.

“Ta-dah!” she says.

“Nice going, Rose,” says Blane.

“Yeah – great thinking with the pipes and cables, MacGyver,” I say.

“Who?” Daisy frowns.

“Never mind. Let’s see what’s inside.”

Rose and I look inside the hole in the wall… and our eyes widen. We go through the open panel into an attic-like room.

“Activate torch,” I say, and the light on my watch-communicator shines on the floor, which is covered – every inch of it – with C-4 charges.

“Ho-lee shit…” I whisper.

“Oh, my God,” Rose murmurs. We’re surrounded by explosives.

I examine one of the cellophane-wrapped C-4 charges. Carefully, I tear open one piece of cellophane to reveal a brick of C-4. One brick – out of, maybe, a hundred. Just then I hear a noise in the corridor. I turn to Rose and jerk my head to the corridor. We move out to investigate.

As we peek out of the panel opening, Rose and I see Pirate Man arriving. Before either of us can even blink, Daisy and Blane spring into action. Blane delivers four wild kicks to Pirate Man, disarming and stunning him. He makes a grab for his walkie-talkie, but Daisy slams into him hard. He tries to fight back, but she floors him super quick. He’s down and out.

“Wow,” I say. I come out of the opening and walk up to Blane and Daisy. “Good work, guys.” I squat down besides Pirate Man and take his walkie-talkie that’s attached to his belt. “I’ll be having this. Daisy, you tie him up and keep a watch over him. Blane, you’ll be lookout.”

“Got it,” says Daisy.

“Yes, ma’am,” says Blane, saluting. “The Watch Blane Patrol is ever alert and ready to report.”

Daisy shakes her head as I leave them with their tasks. Rose and I head back through the opening in the wall. I swing the torch on my watch-communicator around the room.

“There must be fifty pounds in here,” I say. “That’s enough to level the building.”

“It’s part of the failsafe,” says Rose. “Phillips has three of them rigged to the vault. If the vault door opens, they all blow.”

“How long until they hack the code?”

“Soon. Jen, look.”

Rose is pointing at something in the far end of the room. I aim the torch at it – and gasp.

“The charge,” I whisper.

We gingerly walk over to the bomb. We study it, figuring out what to do. It’s a tense moment.

“What do you know about deactivating a C-4?” I ask.

“I’ve deactivated a few bombs… but nothing like this,” says Rose. “You?”

“I know much about disarming C-4s like I know about the Higgs boson – nothing.”

Rose lets out a sigh as she stares at the detonator. “What are we going to do?”

That is a very good question…

A burst of radio noise startles the both of us.

“Yo, Wylie! What’s up with the power surge?”

It’s Phillips.

My heart races as Rose and I stare at the radio. We can’t have more company down here.

“What do we do?” Rose asks.

I hand her my watch-communicator. “Wait here, and shine the torch down,” I tell her.

I hustle away and run like wildfire back to Wylie/Pirate Man. He’s lying in an alcove under the watchful eye of Daisy. He’s still unconscious; he’s tied up with cables and has duct tape covering his mouth.

“Jenny – what’s wrong?” Daisy asks.

I wave the walkie-talkie. “Phillips.” I rip the tape off Wylie’s mouth and slap him across the face with great force.

“Seriously, Wylie, where the hell are you?” Phillips asks over the walkie-talkie.

The slap has awakened Wylie. He looks up me with half-mast eyes. I grab him hard by the balls, making him grunt in pain.

“Tell him everything’s cool, you’re still checking it out,” I tell him. I hold the walkie-talkie up to him, but Wylie just stares at me, refusing to cooperate. Frustrated, I squeeze harder. This kills him, but I’m not fucking around.

“Do it, or your voice is gonna get even higher,” I threaten.

Then, in a high-ish pitched, strained voice, Wylie says, “Screw you.”

I sigh. “I’m disappointed.” I let go of his balls and elbow him hard in the face – knocking out some teeth as I render him unconscious.

I drop the walkie-talkie on the ground and stomp on it with my foot, smashing it to pieces. Then I walk briskly back to Rose and the explosives, concerned and frustrated. My mind is racing – _what the hell am we gonna do?_

“What happened?” Rose asks.

“Pirate Man was being an uncooperative prick, so I knocked him out,” I say. “But forget about him, we need to find out how to disarm this piece of crap.”

“OK – let’s just calm down and take it one step at a time. This is a C-4 charge, right? So the blasting cap’s in the middle on the detonator, that’s what we have to disable…”

We just notice four corner mirrors affixed to the charge itself. It seems to serve no purpose at all.

“What’s with the mirrors?” I say.

“I don’t know.” Rose leans closer to study the sides of the charge. “But I think there’s more than one lead spliced to the firing wire.”

“Probably in case one of the leads has a break in it.”

“Take a look at this.”

I glance to what Rose is looking at on the side of the bomb. It looks like a small receiver.

“What is that?”

“It’s a radio receiver. Must be how opening the vault triggers the C-4…” Rose stops. “Wait.”

“What?”

“This thing’s here to protect MI9. The last thing Director Fairchild would want is for it to go off accidentally.”

“What are you saying – it’s like a standard demolition bomb?”

Rose nods.

“So all we have to do is pull out the blasting cap?” I say.

Rose has a look that says I think. I raise my hand to reach for the bomb, but she suddenly grabs my wrist.

“ _But_ … Director Fairchild would want to know if someone’s trying to deactivate the charge,” she says.

“So there’s gotta be some kind of tamper alarm.”

“But what?”

“Hmmmm. Oh!” I reach into my utility belt and pull out a small aerosol spray – very handy for finding invisible laser sensor grids.

I look to Rose, and she nods. “Go ahead.”

I spray the aerosol… revealing a laser grid emanating from a ceiling source (See what I mean?). The laser is reflecting from corner mirror to corner mirror around the blasting cap – a formidable deterrent.

“Look at that,” I murmur as the grid starts to disappear.

“Now we know what the mirrors are for,” says Rose. “Spray it again.”

I spray again and the laser grid reappears.

I narrow my eyes. “I think I can pull the blasting cap without touching the lasers…”

“My hands are smaller,” Rose interrupts.

I stare at her. She’s right.

“Make sure your hand stays equidistant from the two side mirrors,” I say.

“One more spray – on three,” says Rose.

I nod and exhale. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

I spray again, as steadily and quickly as possible. Rose reaches through the laser and plucks the blasting cap from the C-4 charge. She carefully – _carefully_ – retracts her hand as the spray dissipates and the grid disappears. We both exhale in relief.

“One down,” I say.

“Let’s hurry,” Rose replies.

The two of us edge our way carefully back to the exit, and then we climb of the opening and return to Blane and Daisy.

“We’ve deactivated the first C-4,” says Rose.

“We need to move to disarm the other three,” I say.

“What about him?” Daisy asks, pointing to Wylie.

“I’ve got an idea.” I grasp Wylie by the legs and drag his unconscious body to a series of lockers that we passed earlier. I open the door one of the lockers and stuff Wiley in it. “There – problem solved,” I say, dusting my hands. “Now let’s hurry and deactivate the other C-4s.”

The four of us race down the corridor to the next location of the explosive, Rose leading the way.

“The C-4 packages will be located behind steel plates that are bolted to the wall,” she explains. “There’ll be fire extinguishers at the regulation points. We’ll use the CO2 from the extinguishers to freeze the bolt, but we’ll have to go easy or we’ll run out.”

We sprint through the corner and race around a corner… only to be confronted by a large group of armed men. We start backing up, but the men have already spotted us.

They’re coming after us.

“Run!” I yell. “ _Run!_ ”

We run. We run for our lives. I don’t know where we’re going but we know it has to be far away from these gun-toting men as possible.

I gasp and duck my head as bullets whistles past me and ping around us. They’re getting closer. From the corner of my eye I can see that the men take out their assault rifles and aim it at me and the young spies – but we manage to avoid the firing squad by turning a corner.

Then I hear a scream, and I turn. Daisy is on the ground – she must have tripped when she rounded the corner. I stop and run up to her.

“I’ve got you,” I say, my fingers tight round her wrist when I pull her up.

“Quick! I’m OK,” she gabbles, and she starts running again, we both do. We catch up with Rose and Blane and the four of us run – and run and run and run… until we reach an intersection at the end of the corridor.

“Split up!” I shout.

We do exactly that – Rose and Blane go left, while Daisy and I go right.

“So, what’s the plan?” Daisy gasps.

“I think you’ll find that this is the plan,” I puff. For now. It’s hard to think of a plan while you’re running but in situations like this, you need to think of something that you can do to lose these jerks.

My heart is banging in my chest and I have a stitch and my mouth tastes of mouth but I keep on running.

We turn around the corner – and gasp in shock when we see more armed guards at the corridor.

“Quick, back up,” I say. But as I turn, the men that Daisy and I have been running from have caught up. I turn again to see the other men have spotted us and start to come towards us. The same goes to the guards that Daisy and I have been running from.

“Now do we have a plan?” Daisy presses.

“Huh… Oh, uh, ah…” I stammer – but then… “Oh, I know! Daisy, I think now would be a good time to bring out those smoke bombs.”

She brings out two smoke bombs. “Take this!” she cries, throwing the bombs at the guards’ feet.

But nothing happens!

“Huh?” Daisy and I both cry out.

The guards glance at the bombs then back at us. Twisted smiles appear on their faces as they continue to make their way over to us. Suddenly, the bombs open up. But rather than releasing smoke, razor-sharp darts pop out from the device.

“Oh crap,” I mutter when I hear beeping sounds. “Daisy, activate your Shield Pin, get down and cover your head.”

Our clothes harden when we press the pins. Then we crouch down, our backs away from the bomb, and cover our heads as the beeping sound stops and the darts launch from the pads. I can hear the guards scream in terror and pain as the spikes protrude from the ball and penetrate them, followed by the sounds of thuds as their bodies fall to the ground.

After a minute or so the screaming stops. And for a few seconds after that, Daisy and I don’t move.

I’m the first to move. I take my hands away from the back of my head and I slowly sit up. I deactivate my Shield Pin and I turn around to see what damaged the darts have done to the guards – even though I knew what has already happened.

The guards who surrounded Daisy and me lay on their backs and stomachs – lying very still. Their eyes gape straight up at the ceiling. They look frozen with surprise as the sharp spikes pierced their bodies.

“They’re dead,” Daisy murmurs. “Oh, my God – they’re dead.”

“Yeah. They are,” I say. I stand up and walk gingerly over to one of the dead guards and pick up the empty ball that the darts launched themselves from and examine it. “Hmmm. It looks like some sort of dart trap. You must have picked it up by accident thinking it was a smoke bomb.” I notice four small red holes on the sides of the ball. “This explains how the trap opened up – it’s motion activated. Still, better them than us, eh, Daisy? Daisy?”

I turn to her and see that she’s still sitting on the floor, looking wide-eyed and pale.

“I killed them. I killed them,” she whispers, her eyes filled with tears.

I go over to her and crouch down to her level. “Daisy. Daisy.” I catch hold of her by the shoulders so she had to look at me. “Daisy, listen to me. This is not your fault. You didn’t know that this would happen. You weren’t to know what this gadget did. But you’ve got to understand it was them or us. Either we did something or they would have taken us and Rose and Blane would have been on their own. OK?”

Daisy doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath and nods.

“Good girl,” I say, and I give her a big hug. “Right, come on. Let’s find Blane and Rose so we can deactivate the bombs.”

Daisy wipes away her tears and gets to her feet. Then I take hold of her hand as we step carefully over the dart-covered men, making our way over to a clearing in the corridor where it’s not riddled with spikes – or dead guards. I don’t let go of Daisy’s hand until we are safely away from the darts.

I can see that Daisy is still looking dishevelled. I try to think of something to take her mind off those guards. And I’ve got the perfect one.

“So, er… So what’s up with you and Blane?” I ask.

Daisy turns to me, very red in the face. “N-nothing,” she stammers.

“What do you mean nothing? You can’t kid me, Daisy. I’ve seen how you are with him – how jealous you were when he told that story about Irena, when he teased you about liking him, and I bet you wanted to thump him good and proper when he was ogling at me when we were introduced on the yacht. It’s so very obvious that you like him, Daisy. And he likes you too.”

She blushes furiously. “Blane… likes me?”

“You know he does. You’ve known that for a long time, yet you’ve done nothing about it. And neither has Blane. God, you two are like the Ron and Hermione of the spying world!”

I turn to Daisy, only to find she’s not by my side. I look back and see that she’s stopped walking. She’s staring at the floor, her hands clenched.

I go over to her and put my arm around her. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say what I said like that.”

Daisy says nothing. She doesn’t look at me.

“Look – I’ve only met you and Blane tonight, but I know that you two are just perfect for each other. But you got to make a move and tell Blane that you have feelings for him. Because if you don’t… there’s gonna be some girl who’s gonna come by and win Blane’s heart, and he’ll be riding off in the sunset with her rather than with you,” I say. “And you don’t want that now, do you?”

Daisy shakes her head. “No,” she says quietly.

“Good. So when this horrible night is over, you’re gonna pull Blane to one side, tell him how you feel and you’re gonna place a big, slobbering wet kiss on his lips.”

“Ew, Jen, don’t be so gross,” says Daisy. But I can tell from her voice that she is grinning!

“Nice to see you smiling again. But I am serious about what I said about you telling Blane you like him. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna bash your heads together. OK?” I give her a nudge.

“OK.” Daisy gives me a little push.

“Good.”

We start walking again, in silence, being extra vigilant about what could be lurking around the corner. After about five minutes, I see a doorway opening twenty feet in front of me. I turn to Daisy and nod. She nods back, and we charge to the doorway. Just as the person walks through, Daisy slams the door, I grab the person and I throw them onto the floor, whipping out my gun and aim it at them – just as the person whips out theirs and aims it at me. But the penny drops when I find out who I’m pointing my gun at.

“Blane?” I say, out of breath and in horror-shock. I lower my gun.

“Jenny?” he says, with the same expression as me.

“Hey – what’s going on?” a voice behind the door asks. Daisy opens it… to reveal Rose. “Why was the door slammed on me like that? You could’ve broken my nose.”

“Oh God, I am _so-o-o-o_ sorry,” I say. “Daisy and I thought you were a guard and we just… I’m sorry.”

“That’s OK.” Blane puts away his gun, gets up and dusts himself down. “Anyway, I see you two got away from the guards.”

Daisy winces. It’s down to me.

“Er, yeah – we managed to put them in their place,” I say, and then I rapidly change the subject. “So anyway, are we gonna disarms some bombs or what?”

Rose brings out her Spy-Pod. “Yes, let’s.”

“So what are waiting for?”

We begin running. We head back to the path we were on before we ran into the guards and when we get there, we dash across to the adjacent corridor and head down the new path.

“God, I feel like I’m in a twenty-four-hour marathon aerobics class,” Daisy puffs, when we’re right down the hallway and round the corner. Nice to see that she’s back to her old self.

Rose leads the way down the hall, with her Spy-Pod guiding her, while the rest of us follow along behind. Within a few minutes, we reach the second steel panel.

I don’t waste any time – I take a fire extinguisher, point the nozzle at one of the bolts and fire, freezing the bolt. Then I knock loose the bolt with the butt of the extinguisher. I do the same process with the other bolts. I take away the steel plate and go into the opening, with Rose following behind me, and Blane and Daisy keeping watch.

Rose and I approach the second detonator. It’s exactly the same as the bomb we already deactivated. I spray the aerosol, revealing the same laser grid as before. Rose moves her hand towards it. She steadies herself and… she reaches for the blasting cap.

Steady…

Steady…

She’s got it.

We sigh in relief.

“Two down, two to go,” I say.

“Let’s go,” Rose replies.

We leave the bomb and head out of the opening. With Daisy and Blane, the four of us take off again.

“The next set of C-4s is along this corridor. We need to cross through the engineering sub-level – over to electrical,” says Rose. “It’s far, so we have to hurry.”

Daisy lets out an exasperated sigh, but she keeps on running. We sprint along, following Rose as she leads us through the corridor… and suddenly stopping dead. The rest of us come to a halt and see what Rose is staring at. Another large group of armed guards, conversing with each other. They haven’t spotted us yet, so the young trio and I slowly and silently back away, hiding in an alcove.

“OK. It seems we have a small, or should I say large, problem in our midst,” I say, my voice hushed. “As you saw there’s a large group of men, with guns, standing between us and the next location of the C-4. And we need to do something to get them out of our path. Any ideas?”

“We could use the cloaking device to get past them,” Rose proposes.

“Too risky. Someone could bump into one of us or trod on our toes. And a broken foot is something I do not want. Next.”

“What about the plan we used to lure the guards away from Rose?” Daisy suggests.

“Uh, we might actually have a bit of a problem there,” says Blane. “I used up the Instant Freeze Cologne when Rose and I were outrunning the guards from earlier.”

“Same goes with the Quick Slick,” says Rose. “Sorry.”

“And we can’t use the Paralyzing Stun Guns in case one of those meatheads calls for backup,” I say. I give a long, weary sigh. “I guess we have no other choice – someone is gonna have to lure those guards away. And I think it should be…”

“Me,” Blane cuts in. “I’ll do it.”

We turn to him. Has he lost his mind?

“Blane, wait, you’re not doing this…” I start.

“Yes, of course I am,” he tells me.

“No, you’re –”

“Jenny! You’re needed here. If you get caught, we’ll be on our own. We need you to keep Rose and Daisy safe, and to stop Phillips from opening the vault and killing our friends. Besides, even if I do get caught, I know that you and the girls will save me as well as everybody else. So I’m doing this – no arguments.”

I look at Blane. The look on his face shows courage and determination. He’s willing to risk his life for MI9. I did say back on the _St Katherine_ that I had faith in him – as well as Rose and Daisy. And he’s not let me down, so…

“OK. OK, Blane, you lure the guards away,” I say. “But for God’s sake be careful.”

He nods. “I will, Jen.”

“Good luck, Blane,” says Rose, giving him a hug.

“You ready?” I ask him.

He glances at Daisy. “Just a sec,” Blane says to me, and he goes over to the blonde. “Daisy… you are the most irritating, stubborn and bossiest person I have ever met.” She opens her mouth to speak, but then he continues with, “However, you are also the nicest, smartest, sweetest and most beautiful girl I have ever met. What I’m trying to say is… is…” He takes a deep breath. “Daisy, I like you. I’ve always liked you – since the first day we met. And I was wondering, when this night is over, if you would like to go with –”

Daisy cuts him off with a kiss. It’s a long slow kiss, stunning Rose.

“Whoa,” Rose murmurs, raising her eyebrows.

I quickly take a picture of the couple with my watch-communicator to show to Frank for later, after I save him. I look at the time. It’s coming up to midnight. I’ve won the bet!

When the kiss ends, Daisy brushes back her hair and smiles. “Wow. You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” she whispers. “And to answer your question, Blane, yes – I would _love_ to go out with you.”

He grins at her, a goofy, lopsided grin. His cheeks are strawberry pink. “Cool,” is all he says.

As much as I loved watching a romantic moment between two people, we really don’t have time for this. We are on a very tight deadline. “All right, Romeo. Let’s get our heads out of the clouds and back to reality,” I say, giving his shoulder a little shake.

“Huh? Oh yeah!” says Blane, remembering what he has to do. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready. Let’s do this!”

“I would suggest you use your Paralyzing Stun Gun on the guards. The last thing I want is Phillips to take the gun away from you and use it against us. Also, take this.” I hand him the Cat Tracer. “This tracker will be able to pinpoint your location if you’re captured. At least then, we’ll be able to find you, Phillips and the hostages easier.”

“Gotcha.”

“OK, Blane. Good luck.”

“You too.” He takes a deep breath and leaves the hiding place. He gets the guards’ attention by giving a loud piercing whistle. “Hey, dumbasses! Bet you can’t catch me!”

And he’s off in a flash, down the corridor and round the corner. Me, Rose and Daisy stand silently, keeping close to the wall of the alcove while the guards’ heavy footsteps thunder after Blane as they chase after him. We wait until the footsteps are at a distant – and then nothing. The men have gone.

I poke my head out to check if anyone is still around, but thankfully the hallway is empty. I come out of the recess, followed by Rose and Daisy.

“I hope Blane will be OK,” says Rose.

“He’ll be fine – Blane’s a trooper,” I say. I look to Daisy. “You all right?”

She nods. “I’m feeling even better now that I’ve kissed him,” she says. She claps her hands together. “Anyway, enough about me – are we gonna save MI9 or what?”

My face lights up in a cocky smile. “Let’s do it.”

And with that, Rose, Daisy and I set off down the corridor to the location of the third explosive.

**(Frank’s POV)**

The last half an hour has been quiet and tiring. Oscar and Carrie are fast asleep on the floor, tumbled into each other. Director Fairchild, who while still in agonizing pain is still, impossibly, defiant. Phillips on the other hand is seated on one of chairs with his feet on the table, reading a book, only to speak when his henchmen tell him how far along they are.

Phillips gets out his walkie-talkie. “How’re we doing?”

There’s radio filter, but the person replies, “That’s five numbers down. Seven to go.”

“Copy.” Phillips, self-satisfied, looks over to Director Fairchild. “It’s almost over.”

The director tries to speak – to offer up some smart remark – but she can’t. She’s in too much pain.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” says Phillips.

The door opens and three guards enter the room… dragging Blane in with them! His hair is a riotous mess, almost like they are rebelling from his scalp. His nose is bleeding, he has a black eye, and like the rest of us he’s handcuffed with zip ties.

“Hey, boss. Look who we found running around the building,” says the dark-skinned guard, shoving Blane to Phillips.

“Well, well, well,” he says, closing his book and standing up. “If it isn’t another juvenile delinquent who thinks he’s James Bond. What the hell happened to your face, homeboy? Did the bad men hit you?”

Blane stays quiet.

“So where are the rest of your friends, boy?” Phillips asks. “I know they’re here because one of them distracted my men so she could let her partner get away through the ducts.”

Blane doesn’t answer.

Phillips leans in close to Blane’s face. “Where. Are. They?” he asks through gritted teeth, but Blane remains close-mouthed. Phillips sighs. “You know… I’m not one for doing this to someone as young as you, but…” He punches Blane in the stomach.

“Oooof!” Blane puffs. He doubles over and trembles with pain.

Phillips grabs hold a fistful of Blane hair and brings his head up. “When I get my hands on your little spy friends… I will take the extreme pleasure in putting a bullet in their heads, before I put a bullet in yours.” He lets go of Blane’s hair and turns to the guards. “Put him next to his misfit friends.”

Two of the guards each take hold of Blane’s arms and half-drag him to where me, Oscar and Carrie are sitting and viciously throw him to the floor, making Blane is groan in pain.

The sound causes Oscar and Carrie to instantly wake up. “Huh?” Oscar mumbles, looking around the room. Then he sees Blane. “Oh, my God! Blane!”

“What?!” Carrie sits up, wide awake in a moment. “Blane! You’re here!”

“Yeah,” he groans. “In the flesh.”

“Er, may I need to remind you people to shut the hell up? Unless you want me to you shoot you out the window,” says Phillips. He turns to his men. “Anyway, guys, keep up the good work. And if you do find any of the brat’s friends, bring them up here.” As the men turn to leave, Phillips calls to them. “Oh, by the way, have any of you guys seen Wylie?”

“Not lately,” says the dark-skinned guard. The other two shake their heads.

Phillips sighs. “All right. You’re dismissed.”

The guards salute and leave the room.

“Man, I feel like a mother at Lakeside Shopping Centre,” says Phillips. “Wylie said he was going to the sub-basement. I don’t know if his walkie’s out of range, if he’s on a coffee break… I don’t know!”

Casey stands up from her chair. “We’ve got five numbers; seven to go – the code program’s running. I’ll go get him,” she says.

“Casey, my dear, you are the absolute bomb! Here – take these.” Phillips hands the blonde girl a walkie-talkie and a pistol. “Keep me abreast of events. OK?”

“Count on it.”

Then she lets herself out of the room and clatters away down the corridor.

“That girl is truly something special,” says Phillips. “Sweet and reliable, if not dull. Kind of like my twin brother, Jasper. Still, like father, like daughter.”

Everyone in the room except the guards gasps. A look of horror comes over Director Fairchild’s face as she looks to Phillips. I’m dumbfounded.

“Oh, didn’t you know? Cute little Casey is my niece,” he says to the director. “And I know what you’re thinking – if she’s my niece, why is her surname Adams? Well, I’ll tell you. About eighteen months ago, Casey married a City banker called Steven. They wedded back in June. It was a beautiful ceremony – I mean it would have been if I was there to see it. I could’ve walked her down the aisle. And I’m saying me rather than Jasper because… two years ago… my brother… my dear, sweet older twin brother – older by just five minutes… died in a freak car accident. A drunk driver rammed into the driver’s side of Jasper’s car at night when he was coming home from a business trip.” There’s a slight pause. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye – so thank you, Frannie. Thank you for making me miss my brother’s funeral, and my niece’s wedding.”

He takes out a third needle and sticks into Director Fairchild. Then Phillips takes a seat and returns back his book while the guards watch over us.

“Are you OK, Blane?” I ask quietly.

“Except for my nosebleed and the black eye, yeah,” he says.

“Who else was with you?” Oscar asks.

“Rose, Daisy and Jen. You don’t have to worry about them – they’re fine.”

“Where are they?” Carrie asks.

Blane peers around the room to make sure that no-one’s looking. He leans in. “They’re disarming the C-4 charges that are hidden throughout the building’s sub-levels.”

“But why?”

“A failsafe might have been activated,” I reply. “If the vault’s opened, it’ll detonate the C-4 charges.”

“They’ve already deactivated two of the charges and they’re on their way to the third one as we speak,” says Blane.

Just then, Phillips looks towards the spies and me. The four of us make it look like we haven’t shared a word to each other. Phillips narrows his eyes, and he goes back to his story.

“Just hang tight, guys,” says Blane. “After they disarm the bombs, they’ll be up here to stop Phillips and rescue us.”

Carrie, Oscar and I nod, now feeling hopeful knowing that someone is here to save us – and MI9.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Rose wasn’t kidding when she said that the next location of the C-4 was far. After dashing through the long corridor, we go through a door that leads us down some stairs to another door that leads us to a wide sub-level that looks primarily like the London Underground tunnel. We decide to walk the rest of the way because as much as I love running, I was bloody knackered! So we walk, at a swift pace, down the tunnel, past the group of rotary converters… and hey presto! We’ve reached our destination.

The process is the same as before, I grab a fire extinguisher, freeze the bolts and whack them off with the butt of the vessel. Rose and I climb into the detonation area and approach the explosive. I take out the aerosol spray, but Rose stops me.

“We don’t need the spray – I’ve memorized the laser grid,” she says. “Just shine the torch on the detonator.”

I nod and focus the torch on the C-4 charge. I watch with bated breath as Rose reaches out… and with quick movements, she removes the blasting cap from the bomb.

I’m incredibly impressed by Rose’s high speed movement. “Nice,” I say.

“Thanks,” Rose replies. “Only one more to go.”

“Then let’s go.”

We leave the detonation area and join Daisy who has been keeping watch.

“We are on a roll here, Daisy. Just one more charge to go and we can start planning on how to save the hostages,” I say.

“Mmmm,” she says. She has her arms folded across her chest, hands gripping her elbows as if she’s trying to hold herself in.

“Hey,” I start. “Blane is gonna be OK. He’s a tough kid – he can handle himself. I’m sure he’s knocked those guards on their arses before he got away from them. He’s probably hiding in a safe place until we come and collect him, so try not to worry too much.”

Daisy nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. I’m certainly not – while I was pointing the light at the charge, I looked at Blane’s current location. Either he’s hiding… or he’s been caught. Either way, we’ll save him – and everybody else.

“Anyway, let’s keep moving. We’ve still got one more C-4 charge to disarm,” I say.

We set off once again to the next location. Just hold on, everyone – just hold on for the next thirty minutes. Once the girls and I disarm the last bomb, we’ll stop Phillips and save you all.

The three of us run through the corridor, as fast as our legs can go. We run and run and run. We just spin around a corner – and we run smack into another person, and we all scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oooh!”

“Kyaan!”

“Waaah!”

Rose, Daisy and I are on the floor, groaning, rubbing our sore spots and wondering who the hell we literally just ran into. I spot the person first. It’s a girl – or should I say woman. She looks a couple of years older than me. Her golden blonde hair is short and tousled, and she’s wearing a strapless full-length off-white satin gown with a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. She’s accessorized herself with glittering jewellery, and like me, she too is sitting on the ground, rubbing her backside.

“Oh, my God – we’re so sorry!” I say, climbing to my feet. “We didn’t mean to run into you like that. I take the girl’s hands and pull her up

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” she says. “I shouldn’t have run into you like that.”

Rose and Daisy get to their feet. Daisy spots the girl. “Hey, I know you!” she says. “You were on the _St Katherine_ tonight.”

“She was?” says Rose.

“Who can forget a romantically glamorous gown like that? Not to mention that she looked nervous and shy and she didn’t speak to anyone. She’s one of us.”

“Really?” I say. “So, if I were to say ‘life is short’…”

“Then I would say ‘but the years are long’,” the girl replies.

Rose, Daisy and I nod to each other. She’s definitely one of us. “So, you’re MI9, huh? Well, so are we,” I say. “I’m Jenny Brownstone, and these are my teammates – Rose Gupta and Daisy Millar.”

“I’m Casey Adams.”

We all say our hellos.

“Wow – I can’t believe you managed to get away from Phillips and this men. I mean how?” I ask.

She’s about to answer when Rose says, “She didn’t.” She points to the floor. “Look.”

I look to what Rose is pointing at. A walkie-walkie. And a pistol.

Daisy gasps. “She works for Phillips.”

I look to the blonde and my eyes go dark.

“I-I can explain,” she stammers.

“You traitorous bitch!” I say, and I punch Casey hard across the face. She’s a lot taller than me but my arm reaches up of its own accord and my fist catches her cheek. Her lower lip is bleeding slightly at the corner, but it’s not enough. I pick up Casey’s pistol and slam her face in with the butt of the gun.

Daisy and Rose jump. Casey falls down screaming. It’s a fierce hit – blood is squirting out of her nose and drips down to her crisp white gown.

“Argh, my nose!” Casey weeps. “I think it’s broken!”

“A broken nose will be the least of your problems when I’m done with you,” I say in a tight, angry voice. “How could you do this to us? How the fuck could you stab MI9 in the back like that? You make decent wage and they give you a flat and a fancy car and this is your way of repaying them? How much is Phillips paying you, huh? Is it six figures? Seven figures? No amount of money in the world could pay for what you have done, you backstabbing piece of shit!”

“Casper is not paying me anything! He threatened me!” Tears are streaming down Casey’s cheeks.

“Huh? He threatened you?” Rose repeats. “Why would he do that?”

Casey sniffs. Bubbles of blood come out of her nose. Daisy gives a little squeal. “Casper came to me a few weeks ago. Just out of the blue, he appeared on my front door. He said he needed my help with something – but I didn’t think it would something as insane as this!”

“But why you?” Daisy asks.

“And why do you call Phillips by his first name?” I question. “Do you know him?”

Casey subconsciously bites her lip and winces, but she nods. “He… He’s my… u-uncle.”

Rose, Daisy and I stare at the girl, our eyes wide. “ _What_?” we exclaim in unison.

“He’s your _uncle_?!” I explode.

Casey nods again. “Yes,” she quietly admits. “But just because he’s my uncle doesn’t mean I’m anything like him – I’m not. Anyway, as I was saying, Casper came to me about four weeks ago saying that he needed my help. I thought it’ll be something like setting him up with a place, considering that he just came back from the dead. But when he said he needed my help with getting back at Director Fairchild, I told him no. There was no way I was going to do something as horrible as that.”

“And that’s when Phillips blackmailed you?” Rose asks.

“Yes. He told me that if I didn’t help him, he said he would make my family… disappear. If I didn’t do what I was told to do, Casper would come after my mother, my husband and his two daughters… and then me.”

The girls and I stare at Casey as she sobs harder. God, I feel incredibly guilty now. I’ve got to do something to make this right.

I kneel beside Casey. “Listen… It seems that I totally misjudged you into thinking that you were working for Phillips and I apologize for that. I’m a complete and utter tit. And I, along with my friends, will do everything to make this right. We are gonna make sure that Phillips doesn’t hurt you, your family or anybody else ever again. OK?”

“OK,” she says, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Good. All right, first of all, we’ve got to find something to tie her up with…”

“Tie her up? We can’t do that – we’ve got to let her go,” says Daisy.

“She right,” Rose agrees. “If we don’t let her go, Phillips will send someone looking for her. He’ll know there’s someone else here and they’ll find us…”

“And if we let her go looking like that, Phillips will send an army of men down and it’ll be game over.”

“Jenny’s right,” says Casey. We turn to her. “It’ll be better if you tied me up. Then when someone finds me, I’ll tell them there’s only one of you. Give you a fighting chance.”

I turn to Rose and Daisy. They hesitate, but they nod in agreement.

“All right, then it’s settled,” I say. I spot a nearby cable and grab it. I tie Casey’s hands and wrap the cable around a pillar. “Once again, Casey, I’m really sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s cool,” she says. “I can see why you did – I’d probably done the same.”

I get the duct tape that was near the cable and tear some off. I bring it towards Casey’s face – to gag her – but she turns away.

“Just one thing,” she says. “When you face Casper… nail the bastard for me.”

I smile. “That I will certainly do,” I say, and I place the tape on her mouth. Then I stand up and turn to Rose and Daisy. “Come on, girls. We’ve got a bomb to deactivate.”

And the three of us set of once again down the corridor to the location of the last C-4 charge, leaving behind the bound and gagged Casey.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at our fourth and final location of the bomb less than ten minutes later, and we immediately get to work. I grab the fire extinguisher and start my handiwork – aim nozzle at bolt, pull trigger and fire, covering the bolt in frost, and then I use the butt of the extinguisher to knock the bolt off the plate. I do the same process to the other bolts.

While doing this process, Daisy asks, “So do we have a plan about how we’re gonna stop Phillips?”

I pause and have a think. I’ve got to be honest; I haven’t really thought of a plan for that one. “I sure we’ll think of something,” I say after a long silence. “But I’m sure Lenny is contacting a SWAT team and they’ll be making their way here as we speak.”

I continue with what I’m doing. I really do hope a SWAT team do come, because I seriously have no idea how we’re gonna stop Phillips. There’s, like, fifty of him and there’s only three of us. How the hell can we pull that off?

I only have one bolt left. I spray it with the extinguisher and crack it off. Then I remove the steel panel – but a sound makes me turn. The same goes to Rose and Daisy. We’re alert, yet afraid at the same time.

“What was that?” Rose whispers.

The three of us listen again. There are footsteps, heavy ones, like a man’s shoes. “It might be Blane,” Daisy says.

I place the steel panel on the floor, throw Rose my watch-communicator and draw out my gun. “You two stay here. If anyone comes here, use your PSGs,” I tell the girls. “I’m gonna investigate. I’ll be right back.”

I stroll cautiously down the corridor, gun in hand, finding out who is down here with me, Daisy and Rose. Part of me is wishing that it is Blane, but I know it’s not him.

A sudden _blip_ sound makes me stop in my tracks. I hear another sound. Footsteps. I glide down the corridor toward the noise. The blipping sound is getting louder. I press my back against the wall as I edge my way around a corner. And that’s when I see him – well, from the back that is. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, and carrying an assault rifle. He’s too tall to be Blane. And he’s not dressed like an armed guard, so that must be Phillips’ henchman, Benny. He’s holding something in his hand. It’s a small hand-held device like Phillips had earlier. That must be where that blipping sound is coming from. Benny is looking down the device. Nothing – it doesn’t make a sound. He moves in the direction of the sound. _Blip_. He follows the signal around a corner. I need to take down lackey before he finds Rose and Daisy. It’s time to run. I tuck my PSG in my belt and I sprint down an adjacent corridor.

I can tell my plan is working when I hear footsteps behind me. Benny is hot on my heels. The chase is on.

As I run, I activate the Shield Pin, making my clothes hard as steel because I know Benny will start shooting – which he does! A bullet whistles past my head, narrowly missing me by inches. I weave as I hurtle down the corridor, giving Benny less to aim at – but that doesn’t stop him from not giving up the chase.

I glance over my shoulder and see that he’s getting closer. He’s ready to take aim. There’s a red laser light pointing square at my head… but I manage to cheat death by turning a corner. Heading down the corridor where the team and I disarmed the first explosive charge – and where I kicked Wylie’s arse!

I turn the corner again and find myself at the hole in the wall where the plate was moments before.  I can hear Benny’s footsteps as I silently dive into the hollow recess in the wall nearby. Benny stops running. I hear him moving slowly and carefully down the corridor. I keep close to the wall of the alcove. I feel my heart going _thump thump thump_ underneath my catsuit. I need breaths – huge, heaving ones – but I have to keep perfectly still. I can hear Benny getting closer. If only I had my watch-communicator with me – then I would turn invisible and kick this guy’s arse. But he might detect me with that device he’s got.

_Blip. Blip._

Oh shit – he’s found me.

Oh God, it’s over. I’ve let everyone down – the team, Frank, Casey, everyone back on the _St Katherine_ and everybody else held hostage upstairs. But most of all, I’ve let MI9 down.

I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.

I can hear Benny approaching as the blips get louder. “Gotcha,” I hear him say.

There’s nothing I can do. I close my eyes. So long, world.

Benny opens fire.

Then silence.

I open my eyes and look down, expecting to see blood. There’s nothing. I can’t feel anything. Oh, my God – I’m alive! Benny didn’t see me! But… if he didn’t see me, who was he shooting?

“Who… the hell… is shooting?!” Phillips demands over the walkie-talkie.

I hear Benny open something up. It sounds metallic like… a locker. I hear something fall out of the locker and land on the ground with a thud.

“Benny… Wylie… does anyone copy? I need status!” Phillips says over the radio filter.

“Phillips… Wylie’s dead…”

“ _What_? How?! Who the hell killed him?!”

After a slight pause, Benny says, “I did.”

I creep out of my hiding place and come out from the corner. I see the back of Benny staring down at the zip-tied, mouth-gagged and now very much dead Wylie. Benny must have thought I was hiding in the locker, not knowing that someone else was in there – Pirate Man.

I move in behind the tall, thin man – stalking like a predatory cat. I clear move throat. Benny turns. I kick him in the jaw. As he reacts, I kick the rifle from his hands. Benny tries to retrieve the weapon, but I swipe it from the floor and I use the butt of the rifle, powering it into the man’s abdomen with such force that he doesn’t even have time to cry out. His eyes bulge and his mouth half-open in surprise. Then I swing the rifle round and up to hit him, hard, under the chin. Benny crumples to the ground, gasping for breath.

I step over him and his dead companion to make my way back to the girls, but I stop when I hear Benny wheeze out, “You… little… _bitch_!”

I let out a sigh. “Oh honey, you are _so_ gonna wish you never spoke now.” I turn and walk over to him and whipping out my PSG, I shoot him in the middle of the head, rendering him unconscious. I examine the body, prodding it with my shoe. Satisfied, I nod to myself, tucking the gun away, and I make my way back to the girls.

xxoOoxx

“Jenny, you’re back!” says Daisy, rushing to me. “We were so worried!”

“Yeah – what happened?” Rose asks. “We heard the sound of gunfire echoing through the corridors.”

“Phillips’ henchman thought he had me,” I say. “But he actually shot and killed the man that I stuffed in the locker. I still kicked his arse, though.”

“Well, we’re just glad that you’re OK,” says Daisy.

“So am I. That was somewhat of a close call. Anyway, you disarmed the bomb OK?”

“All four C-4s are all deactivated,” Rose says proudly. She hands me back my watch-communicator. I strap it back on my wrist.

“Excellent. Now that we saved MI9, let’s figure out how we can stop Phillips and –”

But as I say these words, I hear the PA system being switched on.

“Dear person beating up my men. I assume that you are an employee here.”

“Phillips!” I growl.

“Now I’m currently standing in the main area of this fine office,” he continues. “And I want you here, in front of me, in ten seconds… or I’ll start executing your friends.”

The colour starts to drain from my face. Daisy’s breath is coming in short, fast gasps, and Rose is standing beside her looking like a deer in headlights.

“Starting with your precious head of MI9… Director General Francine Fairchild,” Phillips finishes.

The three of us stand in the corridor, looking at each other, frozen in this horrible moment, with one question on our minds: what the hell are we going to do?


	45. The Confrontation

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’ve just spent the last minute or two pacing up and down the corridor, and racking my brain about how I’m gonna stop Phillips from killing Director Fairchild – as well as everybody else. But I’ve got nothing. My mind is completely blank – like Joey Essex from _The Only Way is Essex_. And it seems that the ‘Joey Essex’ syndrome has affected Rose and Daisy because like me, they can’t think up a plan either.

This is bad. Really, _really_ bad.

“We must have some sort of plan about how we’re gonna stop Phillips,” says Daisy. “I mean, we do have a plan… don’t we?”

“I… I don’t know,” Rose replies.

“But there must be something. We can’t just give up!”

“I’m sorry, but… I honestly can’t think of anything.”

I’m still pacing when out of the corner of my eye, I can feel two sets of eyes staring at me. I turn to see the girls looking hopefully at me, thinking that I have something up my sleeve.

“Why are you all looking at me?” I say.

“You’re the ideas person,” says Daisy. “You came up with some brilliant ideas tonight, so your brain must be cooking up something special.”

I want to tell her that I’ve got a plan, but sadly, I don’t. “I’m sorry, Daisy. But I don’t have anything.”

“Wha…? But… but you must have something – anything!”

“Not this time.”

“But you’ve –”

“Daisy – stop! I’ve got nothing, OK? Nothing. No distractions, no tricks or fancy gadgets and weapons to get us out of this one. It’s over, all right? It… It’s over.”

Daisy stares at me in disbelief, and Rose is just… quiet.

I sigh. “I’m really sorry, girls. I know I’m usually the one to come up with an idea or a plan, but unfortunately for this one, I’ve come up empty,” I say. “And even if I did come up with something, how can we execute it against the likes of Phillips? He has God knows how many men patrolling the building, and there’s only the three of us. We’ll be dead before we even get the chance to draw out our Paralyzing Stun Guns.”

“So what? We’re just gonna give up?” Daisy says.

“You’re not – but I am. I’m gonna surrender to Phillips.”

“What?!”

“But, Jen, you can’t! He’ll kill you!” Rose cries.

“We don’t have any other choice. Casey has already told Phillips that there’s only one of us here – I will be that person. Either I go up there and give myself up or Phillips is gonna kill the hostages and then send his men down here to kill us. So if I have to die in order to save the lives of the agents of MI9, then so be it.”

The girls are devastated, tears welling in their eyes. I wish there was some other way to get one over on Phillips, but we’re out of options.

“Listen, girls…” I start. “I just wanna say… it’s being an absolute privilege working with you – even if I only met you tonight, Daisy. You certainly impressed me tonight – from the arse-kicking with the guards to when you made your feelings clear to Blane. I hope you two stay together for a very long time.”

“We will, Jenny,” she says. “We will.”

“And Rose – you continue to be the most brilliant that you ever are. From your inventions to your equations to your problem-solving, you continue to make me proud – even after I’m gone.”

“That won’t happen, but I’ll still do all those things,” says Rose.

The three of us share a big, hard hug – this may be the last time we’ll see each other. But on the other hand, I’m hoping to buy some time long enough for an extraction team to come and rescue us – that’s if Lenny has called them.

And then I hear footsteps. We pull away, listening. Quick, light footsteps, clatter-clattering down the corridor. Too light for a guard. It’s probably Casey to take me upstairs.

“You two better hide – we don’t want Casey to take you in too, in case she has a guard with her,” I tell Rose and Daisy.

The girls give a sad nod. “OK,” they say, and they scurry away, down the corridor, round the corner, gone.

So this is it. It seems that my nine lives have finally run out. If I die tonight, at least I died for protecting my colleagues. I’m sacrificing myself for the greater good – a little something Frank told me months ago. Speaking of whom, I hope he knows that I’ll love him forever – even after death.

The footsteps are coming along the corridor, getting nearer and nearer. I stand in the hall, my heart thudding, ready for Casey to take me upstairs to face the man who has caused trouble and terror.

The footsteps are getting louder now as Casey gets closer. I try to tell myself that it’s gonna be all right, but I know that’s bollocks. I need a bloody miracle to get myself out of this mess. Then I see a dark shape on the floor of the corridor. She’s arrived. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and hold my hands out knowing that I’m going to be handcuffed. But as the person turns the corner, my arms drop and my mouth falls open when I see who that person actually is.

“You!” I gasp.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been nearly ten minutes since Phillips announced via intercom that he’ll start executing everyone if the person – probably Jen – doesn’t show up. After looking at his watch for about the millionth time, Phillips gets a gun from one of the armed guards and points it at Director Fairchild.

“It seems that our friend has decided to play chicken and not follow up on my offer,” he says. “Still, though, even if they do turn up, I’ll still end up shooting you. It’s being fun, Frannie – _really_ fun. Tell my brother I said hi.”

Phillips presses the barrel against the director’s neck. He cocks the gun and he’s about to squeeze down on the trigger…

We all jump violently when we hear a knock at the door.

Phillips pulls away the gun and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, my God – _what_?” he shouts, turning to the door.

The door opens and a guard in a balaclava enters the room. “We’re sorry to disturb you, sir. But there’s someone you should see.”

The guard steps to one side and my heart sinks when I see who enters the room – I’ve already known for the past ten minutes.

It’s Jenny.

She’s escorted into the room by two more guards in balaclavas, their guns pointing at her lower back so she doesn’t try anything. Not that she can, anyway – she’s handcuffed. Seeing her like that, knowing that our last hope is gone, is devastating.

“I’m here, Phillips,” she says.

“Yes you are.” He lowers his gun. “So, Miss MI9, we meet again. And I must say when I first saw you; you were not quite what I was expecting. I thought you’d be, like… an ugly guy or something, not… Beyoncé. You’ve got the same exact bangin’ body as her: wide hips, thick thigh and titties small enough to suck whole. Hm! Just looking at your body in the formfitting catsuit makes my dick so hard.”

Jenny stands in silence, trying to hide her disgust – and who can blame her? I just literally stopped myself from tackling Phillips and beating him senseless. That’s my girlfriend he’s talking about.

“Unfortunately, unlike Beyoncé, she doesn’t go around beating up my guys like she’s Wonder Woman,” Phillips continues. “Search her.”

One guards cover as the other frisks Jenny. He takes off her utility belt and throws it on the table, followed by her watch-communicator and a lapel pin.

“Nine numbers down, three to go,” a guard says over the radio. “Make it ten – we’re cooking in here.”

“Excellent,” Phillips replies with a satisfying, smug smile. He takes out a chair. “Put her here.”

Jenny is shoved into the chair by the guard. Phillips pulls up another chair and sits down opposite her. He gets the duffel bag and puts it on the table. He opens it… and takes out a bottle of Champagne of all things. He removes the foil and the wire holding down the cork while Jenny remains defiant.

“For some guys it’s a special pair of socks. Other guys, it’s the piece – the gun – or bullets, custom tip. For me, I suck my luck from a bottle of Champagne. I bring one for every job,” says Phillips.

He aims the bottle away from Jen and pops the cork. It bounces off the wall and lands somewhere in the corner of the room.

“I usually wait until we’re on getaway, but this time, I’m feeling so good about our progress that I’m suckin’ premature.” Phillips swigs from the bottle, and we watch as he drinks more… and more… and some more. Then he lowers the bottle and moves to Jen, putting the bottle on her lips. But she doesn’t accept it – she just stares at Phillips in a deadly and hateful way.

“I’d like you to join me,” he says. “As Confucius said, ‘what looks offer, may be demand’.”

Their eyes lock for a long while. He’ll kill her if she doesn’t drink. Jenny’s lips parts and drinks from the bottle. Phillips keeps tipping it, until she chokes a bit on it. Phillips smiles and takes the bottle away.

“I should probably tell you when I took a sip just now, I backwashed. Like big time,” he says.

I give a grimace of revolt.

“Yuck,” I hear Carrie whisper.

“You know,” Phillips continues, “you and wannabe spy boyfriend caused a lot of trouble tonight – beating up my men, shooting them, freezing them, impaling them with spikes, even tying two of them up in the ladies’ room in nothing but their underwear. You even went and spoiled Casey’s beautiful face.”

I look to the blonde girl. The nosebleed has stopped, but from the look of it, her nose and the surrounding area still looks sore and tender.

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” Phillips asks Jenny.

She gives a little shrug. “Those weak little bitches had it coming,” she murmurs.

Her head jerks as Phillips slaps her hard across the face. My head jerks as if _he’s_ hit _me_. It’s like I can feel Jenny’s pain – and it hurts like hell.

“Don’t you _ever_ call my niece a bitch! You hear me? You jumped-up slapper,” says Phillips.

Jenny snaps her head back to Phillips, glaring angrily at him as her nose spurts like a scarlet fountain, but she says nothing.

“Hmph!” Phillips gets up from his chair and goes over to Director Fairchild. Her face – teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut – betrays the horrible pain she is suffering from. He looks to her and smiles – like a shark.

“Hey, remember Griff? That big guy? DoI’s worked him so hard. Straps with blades on them… these tricky glass syringes… acid… they were creative. But he didn’t go down – until they opened the Box. Guy took three needles before his heart finally gave it up.”

“How many did you take?” the director asks.

There’s something in Phillips’ face – a flicker of tension. Director Fairchild knows she’s struck a nerve.

Phillips takes out another needle. “I want to hear you scream the way my men did.” He sticks the fourth needle into Director Fairchild. She gives an anguished cry as the pain shoots through her body. Phillips casts a look to the director as if to say, “I told you so.”

“They broke you, didn’t they?” Jenny suddenly says. Phillips turns to her – we all do. She has a secret smile on her face, like she’s simply enjoying her own private joke. It’s like having someone laugh at you, except that Jenny’s smile is far more unsettling, far more sinister. A cat eyeing up a trapped mouse – that’s exactly what she reminds me of.

“They made you _beg_ ,” she continues.

“Don’t you dare…” Phillips starts.

She puts her head on one side, her voice a silly high-pitched imitation. “ _Oh please, I can’t take it anymore!_ ” Then she says in her normal voice, “Is that what you said to them?”

“You know how many needles I’ve got…?”

“I know what you did. You cried for mercy.”

“That is _not_ what happened.”

“You wept like a baby.”

“ _That is not what happened._ ”

“Like a little _baby_!” Jenny throws her head back and screeches. She rocks back and forth with laughter.

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” Phillips yells. He draws out his gun and fires.

The laughter has suddenly stopped. Jenny freezes in horror, her face pale and cold. She looks down at herself. She looks up at Phillips and then to me. “Frank…” She whispers, and she topples to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut. She lands with a dull _thud_.

“ _Jenny_!” Carrie screams. She rushes over to her – as does Blane and Oscar. No-one stops them – we’re in too much of a shock.

I feel tears stinging in my eyes. I stand up shakily and walk to the table. My breath catches in my throat as I peer over the table and see Jenny laying there motionless and still. There’s a gaping hole in her chest, dark red blood staining her catsuit. She isn’t moving a muscle. She isn’t breathing. She just lays there, lifeless on the floor, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Jenny?” My voice is in a choked whisper.

“She’s dead,” Blane says quietly. “Jenny’s dead. Jenny’s _dead_.”

“Not Jenny! No! Not Jenny!” Carrie cries, her voice going high-pitched. Oscar gets his arms around her as Carrie howls into his shoulder. Tears are pouring down Oscar’s cheeks. Blane drops to the floor by Jenny’s body. He kneels there, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Frightened voices compete with the cries.

For a moment, I’m frozen in shock. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t _be_. Not without Jenny – the love of my life. She’s dead – I can’t believe she’s… dead. This is all Phillips’ doing. He killed her. He killed my girlfriend. Suddenly, red-hot rage explodes inside me and I burst into action.

“You bastard!” I scream as I shoot across the room and throw myself at him. “You murdering bastard! You killed my girlfriend! You killed her! _You killed her!_ ” I cry out, beating him with all the strength I can muster. Then Phillips strikes out with the handle of the gun and I drop to the floor, clutching my face.

Phillips stares down at me in disgust. His hair is sticking up on end. “Don’t ever jump in my face like that again, you little shit! So she was your girlfriend, huh? Well, now you get bloody well join her.”

He raises his gun and takes aim. Tears are still running down my cheeks, but I don’t give a damn – at least now I’ll be with Jenny.

Suddenly, Casey steps in front of me. “That is enough!”

“Casey, darling, step out of the way – you’re blocking my shot,” says Phillips.

“I am not letting you do this, Uncle Casper! I’m not gonna stand back and watch you kill innocent people because your stupidity and your selfishness got you and the others caught. I already feel bad about letting you beat up Director Fairchild, electrocute her and inject her with super-concentrated curry powder; not forgetting that you were gonna let one of my colleagues get raped by your dirty and despicable scumbag men that you hired to kidnap everyone. But now that you’ve gone and killed someone…” Casey shakes her head. “That’s it – no more! This ends right now! I am giving you the opportunity for you and your men to get the hell out of MI9, out of London, and out of the UK. I don’t give a fuck where you go, so long as stay away from me, my family and my colleagues, and you never set foot in this place again.”

Everyone stares at Phillips, waiting to see if he takes up on Casey’s proposal.

“Hmmm…” he says thoughtfully. “That seems like a good idea. I’ve got the money. I could flee to Hawaii… the Caribbean… maybe even Central or South America. I could be chasing after bikinis in a tropical resort or sitting under palm trees and drink things out of coconuts, looking pleased with myself. Ah, the good life.” A slight pause. “But the only way I’ll be truly happy… will be if I kill everyone here.”

“What?!” Casey cries. “No, no, you can’t do that! I won’t let you!”

“Guard!”

One of the guards takes hold of Casey’s wrists and pulls her aside. She struggles and beats on the guards’ chest, but the man twists her arm behind her back and yanks on her hair, making her scream in pain.

Phillips nods in satisfaction. “I’ll deal with you later, my dear,” he tells Casey. Then he turns to us. “As for the rest of you, up against the wall.”

Nobody moves. We all stay where we are.

Phillips fires the gun. The bullet slams into the ceiling. “I said _now_!”

Some of us get to our feet and move to the wall opposite the window. Some of us – mainly me, Oscar, Carrie, Blane and Stark – are forced onto our feet by the guards and we get shoved against the wall.

“Take one last look, Frannie,” says Phillips. “This will be the last time you’ll be seeing your agents. But don’t worry – you’ll see them again _real_ soon. When my men are finished with them, I will personally take you out myself.” He turns to the guards. “Men, take your positions!”

The guards stand opposite us and aim their guns at us.

“OK, guy, on the count of three, open fire,” Phillips tells the men. “One… two… thr–!”

“Self-destruct mechanism activated.”

“Huh?” Phillips looks confused – we all are. We look around the room to find out who said that.

“Look!” Casey gasps, staring down at the ground, and all eyes follow her gaze.

My eyes widen. “Jenny?”

There’s smoke coming out of my mouth and ears and a shower of yellow sparks appear around her body.

“What the flying fuck is going on?!” Phillips exclaims.

“Warning. Warning. Warning,” says Jenny. “This android will self-destruct in five, four, three, two, one…”

Suddenly, Jenny explodes. But the strangest thing has happened. Rather than an explosion killing us all, Jenny explodes… harmlessly – with a shower of confetti.

“Oh, my God,” says Casey. “That… was an android?”

“Could someone tell what the actual fuck just happened here?” Phillips asks angrily.

“I’ll be glad to,” says the masked guard, and suddenly draw out his gun and shoots the armed man holding Casey in the head. Casey breaks free before she falls to the ground with the guard.

Just then, the other two guards in balaclavas draw out their guns and start shooting – but not at us, the hostages… but the other guards! All the guards in the room drop like flies as the three masked guards take them all out.

“You traitors!” Phillips cries. He raises his gun, but the one of the masked guards grabs the Champagne bottle and knocks the weapon out of Phillips’ hand, and then whacks the bottle across his face, shattering it. Phillips falls to the floor, clutching his head. His face, hair and suit are drenched in Champagne. We all stare at the masked guards in wonderment.

“Just who the _fuck_ do you pricks think you are?” Phillips snarls. Blood trickles down the side of his head.

The guard pulls up his mask.

The room echoes with screams, hushed whispers and cries of confusion as the face is revealed. Dark brown eyes staring down at Phillips. Ink-coloured hair falling behind the head.

“Surprise,” the familiar person tells him.

And there she is, right before my eyes. My Jenny. Really.

She grins at Phillips expression.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” she says, and then giggles.

“I don’t believe it!” I say. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah. Right here in the flesh, babe,” she says, not taking her eyes off Phillips. “And I’m not the only surprise. Girls?”

The two guards remove their masks… to reveal Rose and Daisy.

“Surprise!” they say.

“Rose! Daisy! You’re OK!” Carrie cries.

“Yep! And it’s all thanks to Jenny and her incredible plan,” says Daisy.

“Plan? What plan? What the fuck is going here? Who the fuck are you? What the fuck is up with the robot?” Phillips quizzes. “Just… what the fuck?”

“First off, I’d prefer if you wouldn’t call the CA-1000 a robot – she’s an android,” Jenny tells him. “And second, my plan was somewhat ingenious. I _was_ gonna surrender to you when the CA-1000 showed up. I was so relieved, I very nearly cried. She told me that Zeke – the person who created her and is currently holidaying in the Caribbean – received my message that I left him when I was on the _St Katherine_. He called me back on my mobile because I left that behind and he couldn’t reach me on my watch-communicator because of the jamming signal, and my esteem colleague, Mr. Lenny Bicknall answered it. He told Zeke the crisis we were having and he immediately got to work. He has sent out an android that is pushing the yacht back to the pier, while he sent two more here. There’s Ling – who right now has taken out every armed guard in the building and is currently guarding the vault so greedy little bastards like you don’t steal anything from inside – good luck trying to get past her. And of course there’s the CA-1000, who really is the spitting image of me. She deactivated the lockdown system and your jamming signal and was able to send a message to an extraction team, who are making their merry way here. Unfortunately, she had to act as collateral damage because I knew you would pull a stunt like this. I activated her self-destruct mechanism and while everyone was startled by the fact she exploded in confetti, my girls and I took out the remaining guards here.” Jenny raises her gun. “And now I’m about to take you out.”

I know that this isn’t the appropriate time, but this is huge turn-on right now. From the way she explained her plan to right now when she’s pointing her gun at Phillips.

“Any last words before I knock you out with the Paralyzing Stun Gun, Phillips?” she asks.

He glares furiously at Jenny but suddenly, a smile flickers around his mouth. “You think you have defeated me, but there’s one thing you should know about a villain who you think has lost everything: we always have one last trick up our sleeves.”

He lifts his arm in front of Jenny and releases thick black smoke from the sleeve that covers the whole room. My eyes stream and my throat clog as I start coughing and choking on the smoke. I can hear everyone doing the same. Just then, I hear the sound of gunshots being fired and glass shattering. I feel so cold, I’m shivering. I cross my arms in front of my chest as the smoke starts to clear up. It’s only when the smoke dissipates that I see the glass on the windows have been smashed. I see Jenny standing by the window, gun in hand.

“Is everyone OK?” she asks.

“Y-yeah. I think so,” I say, with some nodding in response.

“Hey – where’s Phillips?” Casey asks.

We all look around. The door is wide open and where Phillips had been laying there is just an empty space!

“He got away!” says Jenny. She changes into her catsuit and from her utility belt; she tosses two items to Rose. “Use the Laser Lipstick and Swiss Multi-tool to free everyone. I’m going after Phillips!”

“Jen, wait!” I call, but it’s too late. She’s already bolted out of the room.

“Don’t worry, Frank. Jenny can handle herself,” Rose tells me. She uses the knife tool to cut my restraints.

I rub my wrists. “Thanks,” I say. Rose smiles in response and goes to help another agent out of their cuffs.

I go over to Director Fairchild, who is lying in a state of excruciating pain. Casey is by her side, removing the needles from her.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am,” says Casey, her eyes streaming. “I didn’t mean for all this to happen. It’s just… Phillips, he was… he…”

“It-it’s all right… Agent Adams. I understand,” the director whispers as she slips into unconscious. “This wasn’t… your fault…”

“We need help over here!” I call. I turn back to Casey. “Don’t worry, Casey. Jen’s gonna get Phillips and we’ll make sure that he never sees the light of day again.”

Casey gives a small smile just as Daisy turns up and uses the Laser Lipstick to cut through Director Fairchild’s restraints. Once she freed, I scoop the director in my arms and carry her in a bridal carry.

“Let’s get out of here,” says Casey, and I nod in reply. “Everyone follow me!”

Casey heads out the room and we all follow behind. We dash down the corridor – with me being extra careful not to drop the director – and stop front of a bank of lifts. Casey presses the button and the doors open.

“You get this lot down to ground level,” she tells me. “I’ll stay here and make sure that everyone gets in the elevator safely and down to the streets outside.”

“OK,” I say. I step in the lift with the seven other people already inside, and push back as the doors close. I can feel the pressure in my ears as the lifts falls lower and lower.

The lift slows down and the doors open. We step out of the elevator, into the reception area, shoving through the doors and out onto the streets, where a SWAT team is waiting for us. They have their guns pointed at us, but one of the officers sees me carrying Director Fairchild and orders the others to lower their weapons. The officer comes up to us and escorts us to the waiting ambulances parked by the roundabout. I notice that Lambeth Bridge is empty – there are no cars, buses or bikes. SWAT must have closed it off – and the roads surrounding MI9 – to keep the civilians away from danger. The paramedics bring the stretcher to me and I lay Director Fairchild on it.

“I… I’ll ride along with her,” Stark offers, as the director is being lifted up into the ambulance. He helps himself into the van. Then the ambulance starts and drives away to the hospital.

I watch as more people exit the building and make their way over to the ambulances to get checked over. From the crowd, I see Oscar, Blane, Daisy, Rose and Carrie (without her shoes) running over to me.

“Frank!” Carrie cries, and throws her arms around me, giving me a hug so hard I nearly fall over – but I don’t care. The others join in. I wrap my arms around them and squeeze tightly as if I can never ever bear to let them go.

“We’re OK,” I tell them. “We’re gonna be OK.”

When we pull away, I notice that Carrie is rubbing her arms to warm herself up. I quickly whip off my jacket and draping it around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she says. She turns and looks to the building. “Do you think Jen will be OK?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Oscar replies.

“Yeah – she’s got this,” says Blane.

“Exactly. Like Rose said, Jen can handle herself,” I reassure them.

I hope she can. Before Phillips was captured, he was one of MI9’s top fighters – military training. He’s quicker and much stronger than her. I just hope Jen can take him down before he ends up killing her – and this time there’ll be no android to save her.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I dash down the long corridor, flying past the guards that Ling knocked out – or possibly killed – with one goal in mind: to take down Casper Phillips. I am not gonna let this rat bastard get away. He is gonna pay for what he has done tonight: kidnapping my friends and colleagues, torturing Director Fairchild, nearly killing Rose, blackmailing his own niece and very nearly opening the vault, triggering the failsafe – luckily Rose managed to deactivated the explosives. But nevertheless I am gonna get Phillips, once and for all.

I head down the hall towards the emergency exit. I shove the door open and fly up the stairs, taking two at a time. It’s obvious that Phillips wants to make a quick getaway. A helicopter will be waiting for him and once he’s on, he’s gone – possibly waiting for another five years to take revenge on MI9. Not on my watch.

After climbing up four flights of stairs, I arrive at the very top floor of MI9. I make a left and head down a short corridor to a half-open door marked HELIPAD. A flight of concrete steps lead up. I climb the steps and reach another door with a push-bar. I press it and go through. I’m outside, ten floors up, on a flat roof with a tall metal fence running around the perimeter. Looking around, I can see right across the city. It had seemed a quiet winter night when I left the _St Katherine_. But up here the cold wind streaks past and the clouds boils.

I notice a helicopter on the helipad – there’s no way Phillips is getting away that easily. I go over to it and slide open the door – but there’s no-one in it.

“What?” I murmur, staring in disbelief at the empty cabin. Where the hell is Phillips?

Suddenly, I hear raspy breathing. I spin around – but there’s no-one behind me. I narrow my eyes and shift them back and forth. I don’t what Phillips’ game is with the pervy breathing but one thing’s for sure, it doesn’t scare me and I’m certainly not gonna fall for any of his crap. Phillips is here somewhere and when I find him, he’s gonna wish he didn’t mess with MI9 – especially me.

“Ha-ha, Phillips. Very funny – not!” I declare loudly, stepping off the helipad. “You don’t scare me! I don’t get frightened by cowards that easily! So why don’t you come out of the rock your cowering under and face me? Huh? Come on out and fight me like a man – unless you’re scared. You don’t want you arse kicked by a woman! You’ll run back to wherever you came from with your tail between your legs because you want to avoid the humiliation of being beaten by the likes of me! Come on, you chicken! _Bok bok b’gawk!_ ”

I’m standing in the middle of the roof, waiting for something to happen. Maybe Phillips will jump out of his hiding place and tackle me to the ground. But there’s nothing – all I hear is silence. It may be hustle and bustle down on the streets below, but up here it’s an eerie, terrible silence, but silence just the same.

Maybe Phillips isn’t here after all. He could’ve escaped by disguising himself as a hostage and when he got outside, he quietly slipped away. If he has done that, I hope he never shows his ugly mug here again.

I sigh and start to head towards the door – but stop when my very sharp ears hear footsteps. And they’re coming towards me! I turn to the direction to where the footsteps are coming from – just in time to see a foot racing towards my face! I form an X with my arms and brace myself, taking the hit. I get knocked back, _sli-i-iding_ backwards on my feet – kicking up dust as I do so – before I tumble over. I quickly regain my composure and get onto my feet, and there standing a few feet away from me is Phillips – standing in a fighting position.

“I have no problem with violence against women – especially slutty bitches like you,” he says. “Besides, I’ve got unfinished business with you. It’s time for me to end you – and there’s no fancy android around to save you!”

“Bring it on, prick!” I say, getting into a fighting stance.

Phillips takes a running start before leaping into the air and sailing towards me – but I block him with my left arm, and then punch him across the floor with my right. Phillips lands like a cat and glares at me. He runs towards me. I spin kick Phillips in the chin, knocking him back.

“You’re quite the opponent, Missy,” he says. “But you won’t be as good as me!”

He attacks me with spin kicks, but I block them. Phillips punches – I block. Phillips looks annoyed, but he doesn’t give in and continues attacking, landing kicks and punches. I evade and counter-attack. Phillips evades, and then land more punches. I jump spin away from danger. We pause, breathing heavily.

“Why don’t you just give it up, Phillips?” I say. “In about five minutes, you’ll be knocked on your arse and when I come over to you, you’ll be weeping and pleading me not to hurt you anymore. So you may as well surrender.”

“I’m not surrendering for shit!” he replies. “And I’ll think you’ll find that it’ll be _you_ who would be begging me not to kill you – but I will anyway. So prepare to die!”

He attacks again. We exchange furious blows, until Phillips puts me in a chokehold. I respond by use the heel of my boot and, with all of my strength and body weight, smash down on the top of Phillips’ foot, disabling him. He yells in pain, causing him to release me from his grasp, giving me the opportunity to swing my leg around and roundhouse kick him in the face, and then duck down and sweep my leg at his feet, tripping him.

I get back into a fighting stance, flipping my hair out of my face. “How do you like me now?” I say with a cocky grin.

“Grrr! You’re gonna pay for that!” Phillips growls. He gets back to his feet via kip-up. He reaches into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a knife. He charges towards me. I fight defensively, redirecting his parries. He takes a swipe at me, but I dodge the attack. He lunges again. I perform a back walkover, kicking the knife out of Phillips’ hand.  He stares at me, incredulity building to rage.

“You’re starting to piss me off now!” he exclaims. He charges with a front punch and tries to take a swipe at me, but I duck – and while I’m there, I throw out a back kick over my own head and nail him in the face. Then I do the back walkover again – kicking him harshly as I do so.

Phillips shakes his head and charges again. I grab him then turn on my back, throwing him over his head. I get to my feet the same that Phillips gets to his. He goes into the other pocket inside his jacket and draws out a gun. He points it at me, but I move quickly and unsheathing the Feline Fight Claws, I catch him across the hand before he had time to pull the trigger. The gun slides across the ground. Phillips immediately responds, throwing two quick punches, which I expertly block and then follow with a hitch-kick to the chin. Then I let forth a typhoon of fury. I come at Phillips with everything I’ve got – unloading an arsenal of badass Kung-Fu moves that will make Jet Li green with envy. Phillips doesn’t stand a chance.

I finish him off with a full roundhouse kick to the face. And then Phillips hits the cement, long and hard.

“I told you… I’ll knock you… on your arse,” I pant. I’m very much out of breath after all that, but I’m truly glad it’s over.

I take out a pair of handcuffs and walk over to the unconscious body. It’s only when I kneel beside Phillips that something is… not quite right. The nose looks bend out of shape – and I don’t mean it’s broken – it looks… squished up, like a pig’s snout. Then I notice a bit of loose skin hanging out from his collar. I reluctantly reach for the tug of skin and pull at it. The skin stretches and stretches – until it rips off! I stare in disgust at the piece of tore skin – but my eyes widen when I look down at Phillips to see that his face isn’t gushing blood. There’s more skin underneath! I stare at the piece of skin in realization – it’s a mask! I start to pull at the mask – tearing it off to reveal… a man with fair skin and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. He also has auburn hair and sideburns.

“The hell…?” I gasp, letting the mask drop to the fall. This man here… isn’t Phillips. This isn’t Casper Phillips! So who the hell have I been fighting? Who is this guy? And more importantly where is Phil–?

An explosion sounds. At first I feel nothing as my adrenaline is pumping. It’s only when my body relaxes a bit and I feel something wet running down my back, followed by a crippling pain that I realize the absolute worst has happened – I’ve been shot.

I’ve been fucking shot.

I collapse on the floor – I can’t move or breathe well at all. I feel like my guts has been ripped apart and pulled out of my body.

I hear the sound of slow, methodical footsteps starting towards me. That son of a bitch! I knew he wouldn’t fight me – he knew he would lose. So he got his lackey to dress up as him – latex mask and all – and get him to fight me. And when I realized that that man wasn’t who I thought it was, Phillips decided to pull this cheap shot – if you pardon the expression. Still, this makes him the crafty, if not a cowardly, bastard.

“As I said, my dear, we villains always have one last trick up our sleeves,” he says oily. He’s so close he’s almost touching me. Phillips flips me over, and I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from screaming because the pain is excruciating. He’s leaning over me, still holding the gun that shot me.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t actually spar,” he continues. “But I couldn’t let the pretty girls see my bruised and battered face when I arrive in Hawaii this time tomorrow.”

I don’t say a word. I’m in too much pain.

“You know,” Phillips brushes a strand of hair from my face, “you and I would have made such an incredible team. Me, with my wit, charm and intelligence, and you, with your beauty, your talents… your sex – we could have been unstoppable. But since you’re working with these losers, I had no choice but to shoot you. And I know what you’re thinking – I took the coward’s way out. But to me, I like to see myself as something who took the easy way out. You see, to be top agent in MI9, you have to be sneaky – which is what I am. It is such a shame that I shot you, though. The things I could have done with you – I could’ve taken you to heaven and back. Ah well, maybe in another lifetime.”

I clench my fists and stare straight at Phillips. He’s got these really cold green eyes that you can’t miss. I focus on them. Staring him out.

“But for now, in this lifetime – for me anyway – I’m gonna hop on my helicopter and get away from this depressing dump. But I’ll be back – maybe in five months or five years even. Either way, you’re not gonna be here to stop me – boo-hoo. Anyway, I can’t stand here all night enjoying the sight of watching you die a slow and lingering death; I’ve got bikinis and hula girls to chase. As the kids from _The Sound of Music_ sang: ‘So long, farewell, _auf wiedersehen_ , goodnight; I hate to go and leave this pretty sight’!”

Phillips turns and starts to walk away from me, humming the rest of the song. So here I am, lying on the roof of MI9’s headquarters, next to an unconscious man, and staring up at the night sky, with Phillips thinking that I’m dying or dead. What Phillips doesn’t know is that underneath my catsuit… are squibs. Fake blood used to simulate gunshot wounds – they’re used in movies and TV. I had a feeling Phillips would pull a stunt like this so back in the office when he escaped and I changed into my catsuit, I changed into one that has small plastic sacs filled with a liquid that looks like blood fitted inside the material – to produce what supposedly looks like a ‘real’ wound if I was shot. And as much as I appreciated the blood bag saving my life, it hurts like hell when they explode. It’s like getting hit with a paintball – that’s gonna leave a big, blue bruise.

I hear the door to the helicopter slide open, Phillips clambering into the aircraft and then the door sliding shut again. The helicopter’s powerful turbines fire up – a high-pitched whine that rises and rises as the rotors begin to turn. As I remembered right, it takes about a minute before a helicopter’s engines are fully up to speed so that it can lift off. This is going to be a long minute, but like Lenny said, sixty seconds is how long we need.

Slowly, slowly, I sit up – I hope Phillips can’t see me. I climb gingerly to my feet and slip silently to the fence, keeping close to it so Phillips can’t spot me. Keeping low, I move swiftly towards the helicopter, like a cat.

I’m still some distance away when the helicopter starts to rise into the air. I’m not gonna reach it in time. There’s no way I’m gonna let this scar-faced dick get away. I need to stop him – a gadget or something.

And then I remember the Mini Bombs. I skid to a halt and go into the pocket of my utility belt, taking out the four small, spherical balls. I’ve only got one shot – I’ve got to make it count. I start running again as the helicopter hovers into the air. As I draw closer to the helicopter I can almost see Phillips turning his head and spotting me. I can imagine the look of horror on his face when he sees that I’m alive. He starts to turn the helicopter, ready to take me out – not if I take him out first.

I close my eyes and I pray silently. Please God, let me make this shot. _Let me make this shot!_

“AAAH!” I yell, throwing the Mini Bombs. They hurtle through the air… and strike the tail rotor.

There’s an explosion – a flaming and wrecked tail and grey smoke billowing as the aircraft lurches, spinning wildly as if it’s about to fall out of the sky. And it is! The helicopter is heading straight for the helipad – straight towards me! – howling through the sky. That’s my cue to get the hell out of here.

I turn and run.

“Shit-shit-shit-shit- _shi-i-i-i-i-it_!” I scream as I sprint across the roof.

I hear the engines whine. I don’t dare glance back in case the burning aircraft is closing in, so I force my legs to move – one running step after another. I can imagine Phillips fighting for control, trying to pull the helicopter up. But it’s much too late – as soon as I reach the door, I hear the helicopter smash into the roof and explodes. I feel the hammer-blow force of the explosion hit my back as soon as I’m through the door. I lose my balance and tumble down the stairs, and blacking out when I land painfully at the bottom.

xxoOoxx

Oww. How long have I been asleep? Five minutes? Half an hour, maybe? It’s kind of hard to tell.

For a moment I just lie still. I feel so rough. My head is pounding with a rhythmic pain, like some sort of massive concrete-breaker. My mouth is parched and my skin feels like sandpaper. This is the most monster hangover, _ever_.

I try to open my eyes but it’s so difficult. My eyelids are so heavy. I try and try, again and again, struggling to move them and wake up. Finally I’m able to open them…

There’s severe pain that’s starting to spread all over my body. I’m aching all over. My knees are throbbing from falling down the stairs – one feels scraped and bloody. My skin is probably mottled with deep bruises. My neck is stiff. And there’s blood trickling down my eye. I feel my head to see if there are any bumps. There are none, but the cut on my forehead feels deep and scary. My hand hurts as I lifted it, pain tweaking up to my elbow.

I struggle to sit up. My hand is starting to hurt so much I can’t even squeeze my fingers. I try again. I groan with the pain as I slowly sit up. I take a minute to compose myself. My head is splitting and kind of foggy. I take a deep breath and I very, very carefully start to stand up, wincing in pain as I do so. Once I’m up, I clutch at my ribs and stumble out of the staircase and hobble to the elevator.

The walk is long but I finally make it to the lifts. One of them is waiting. I get in and press the button for the ground floor.

The elevator is hot and stuffy and I’m dizzy as it goes down I feel like I’m going to faint…

No! You’ve got to keep it together – just until your outside and in an ambulance, with Frank by your side. Oh God, Frank. I almost forgot about him. He’s probably crying and screaming in anguish because he thinks I died on the roof. But I’m not dead, Frank. I’m alive and well, and when you see me coming out of the building, you’re gonna run into my arms – or at least one of my good arms – and you’re gonna hug me and kiss me and tell me how much you love me. You’ll see, Frank. You’ll see.

The minute the doors open, I shuffle out of the lift and limp across the reception area. I use my back to push the door open. The fresh air greets my face as I step outside and descend down the steps, but everything looks weird. The trees and building and people lurches sideways. What is going on?

I hear someone call my name, but they seem so far away. I feel so dizzy. The trees and people whirls round and round, the buildings closing in on me. All of a sudden, I find myself falling and a wave of blackness engulfing me.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I can’t breathe.

_Ican’tbreatheIcan’tbreatheIcan’tbreathe_.

I feel like that time has stopped and everything around me is collapsing. And it has. Jenny – she… she’s gone. She’s dead.

At first I thought she die when she got shot because we all heard a gun being fired. I tried to go back into the building but Blane and Oscar held me back. It was only when the tail rotor of a helicopter exploded that I knew Jen was still alive – only for the aircraft to come crashing down on the roof and… When that happened, everyone was too shocked to do anything. After a few seconds, people started, screaming and crying and shouting. But for me, I couldn’t do anything. I just stood there, watching the helicopter explode in a ball of flame. I thought Jenny might have escaped before the helicopter crashed, but after ten minutes of waiting… it seems that while she tried to escaped, she must have got caught up in the explosion and… perished.

So here I am – standing still, swaying, not really knowing what to do.

Jenny is gone. My lovely Jenny… is dead.

I still can’t take it in.

I feel sick and heartbroken. I can’t bear the idea of a future without her. I’m nothing without her. If only there was a way to bring her back – even if it was for five minutes. I just want to see her smile one last time…

“Frank!” Carrie suddenly comes rushing over. “Frank, a miracle has happened. Jenny’s alive!”

I immediately snap out of my trance. “What?!”

“Look!”

She points over to the MI9 building. I peer through, wondering if it’s some sort of joke.

But it’s not a joke.

It _is_ Jenny.

I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dreaming. It’s _not_ a dream! Jenny really is alive!

“ _Jenny!_ ” I cry, and I set off towards her. Tears are pouring down my face. I’m so relieved she’s all right.

But as I get nearer, I notice that Jenny’s not all right. She looks weak and disorientated. She’s swaying back and forth like she’s about to faint – and she is!

“Jen!” I scream as her legs buckle and she tumbles forward.

I run to catch her, my arms out.

Then she falls on me, her face in my chest, and I wrap my arms around her.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” I tell her. I carefully lay her on the ground and put her in the recovery position as Rose rushes up to us.

“Is she OK?” she asks, kneeling down beside Jenny.

“I-I’m not sure,” I say. I press two fingers on the inside of her wrist and check her breathing. “Her pulse is weak but she’s breathing.” I notice Rose staring at Jenny’s back. “Rose?”

“Frank… she’s being shot.”

I peer over Jenny’s side. There’s a bullet hole in the middle of her back.

“Oh, my God! No! No…” I whisper, and I’m crying, tears spilling down my cheeks as Rose call for the paramedics. “Jenny, please be all right. You’ve got to be OK. Promise me you’ll get better. I’ll look after you. I just want you to be all right, Jen. You won’t die, will you? You can’t leave me on my own. I love you, Jen. I love you so much.”

The paramedics are here and someone is helping me up, though I don’t want to move. I have to stay with Jenny.

They’re moving her, sliding her onto a stretcher and wheeling her to the ambulance.

“Frank – go with her,” says Rose. I turn to her. “Go. The others and I will follow.”

I just nod my head and run towards the ambulance that the paramedics are lifting Jenny into. I can’t think, I can’t talk, I can only say one word.

“Jenny!”

“We need to take her to hospital and check her over. You’ll have to talk to her later,” says the female paramedic, and helps me up beside Jenny in the van. Her colleague is examining Jenny, listening, looking, checking her pulse rate.

“You’re Jenny’s friend?” she says, barely looking up. “What’s your name?”

“Frank. And I’m her fiancé.”

“We’re doing our best for her, Frank,” she says, as the ambulance starts.

“Is she going to be all right? She’s not going to die, is she?”

“I’m sure she’ll be right as rain in no time. You look a bit groggy yourself and there’s that cut on your cheek. We need to check you, too. But for now, we’ll see to your fiancée.”

I clasp Jenny’s hand tight as the paramedics carry on checking her while the ambulance hurtles forward.

Oh Jenny. _Please_ be all right. I feel so lost and lonely without you. I need you by my side. Please please please get better!

xxoOoxx

It’s been over two hours since Jenny was admitted into A&E. I talked to her all the way to the hospital, holding her hand, but I had to let go when we arrived outside Casualty. I ran along beside her until she was suddenly wheeled right away from me by an urgent medical team.

I was taken away by a nurse who cleaned up the cut on my face and gave me six stitches. By the time I was finished, the MI High team, along with Blane and Daisy have arrived having being dropped off by a member of SWAT. Daisy took Blane to get himself cleaned up, while Rose, Carrie and Oscar gathered around me and we all hugged. Another ten minutes went by before Lenny showed up, again being dropped off by a SWAT person. Rose explained what has happened as I was too tired and worried at the same time to do so. After a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Lenny and the return of Blane and Daisy, the seven of us go into the waiting room while the doctors work on Jenny.

So here we are. Almost two hours later, in the bleak orange waiting room, wondering exactly what the doctors and nurses are doing to Jenny. I shift around in my chair, not talking to anyone. I’m too dazed by the whole situation. I shut my eyes as if I’m trying to blot it out. But I can’t. I think, Jenny Jenny Jenny. I keep thinking about how tired and exhausted she looked, when she collapsed into my arms… that bullet hole in her back. Oh God – what if she…

No. You can’t think like that. Jenny is not going to die. She is the most alive person I’ve ever known. She will get completely better and we’ll talk about this time with a shudder.

I’m awakened by a hand on my shoulder. I turn, startled to see Lenny sitting next to me, with a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Lenny.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I noticed that you were shivering.”

“Oh.” I hunch down lower on my plastic chair, sweeping a hand back through my hair and sighing.

“She’s going to be OK, Frank. I’ve only met her tonight, but I know Jenny will pull through. She’s a fierce fighter. She’s gonna pull through, and you two will get married, have children, grow old and be together forever.”

I smile gratefully at Lenny. I’m almost starting to feel better. Then a woman in a white coat enters the room.

“Mr. London?”

I stand up. “That’s me,” I say.

“I’m Dr Nathan. We’ve just finished treating your fiancée.”

I go up to her. “How is she, doctor? Is she all right?”

“Miss Brownstone will be just fine. She’s just exhausted after the night she had. She also has a sprained wrist, four cracked ribs and a cut to the knee and head, as well as bruises. Other than that, she’s fine.”

“What?” Rose is by my side. “But-but-but… she was shot – in the back!”

“Ah yes, about that. It seems that when we undressed her to attend to the wound… we found that there wasn’t one.”

“Excuse me?” Now I’m really confused.

“It was only when we opened up her catsuit that we found squibs in the material.”

“Squibs?” Daisy says. “What is that?”

“They’re devices coupled with small balloons filled with fake blood and often other materials to simulate bullet hits,” Blane explains. “They were once used on actors in TV, film and live theatrics. But such use has been largely phased out in favour of more advanced devices that are safer for the actor, such as miniature compressed gas packs.”

“Jenny must have known that Phillips was going to shoot her,” says Oscar. “So she fitted the squibs in the catsuit.”

“So when Phillips did shoot her, he thinks that he killed her,” says Carrie. “And once his back was turned, Jenny finished him off once and for all.”

“Wow. She really is full of surprises, isn’t she?” says Lenny.

Everyone murmurs in agreement. But I’m too stunned to say anything. I’m so weak with relief I have to lean against the wall. Jenny’s OK. She’s going to be OK. She’s going to get better and we’d all go back to normal, Jen and me at home, while saving the world on the side.

“Can I, um, can I see her?” I ask Dr Nathan.

“I’m afraid she’s asleep at the moment…” she says.

“Please, doctor. It will only be for a few minutes,” Lenny tells her. “He just wants to see that she’s OK.”

Dr Nathan doesn’t wait to argue it out, she just steers me out of the waiting area and onwards, to the end of the ward, to a special room.

I peer round the door and see her nurse besides her checking her pulse rate and heartbeat. Jenny is lying on her back, eyes closed; her hair tousled on the pillow with about ten stitches sticking out of her forehead, her right wrist is bandaged up and in a sling and her other hand lying gently curled on the covers.

The nurse spots me and makes it her cue to leave.

“I’ll give you a moment,” says Dr Nathan, and she walks off, leaving me alone with Jenny.

“Jenny – oh Jenny,” I say, rushing over to her. Tears are welling up in my eyes. I can’t stand seeing her like this – looking all pale, battered and bruised and bandaged up like mummy. I take a seat beside her bed.

“Hi, Jen. It’s me – Frank,” I say, taking her free hand. “You gave me quite a fright tonight. The first time, when Phillips shot you – and it turned out to be the Cat Android 1000. The second time, when he shot you again – and I just found out that you had squibs underneath your catsuit. And then the third time… the third time, when the helicopter came crashing on the roof… My whole world shattered around me. I thought you’d died. I don’t know what I’ll ever do without you. I can’t exist without you. You’re my best friend, my soul-mate, my smile, my laugh, my everything. Oh Jenny… I love you.”

I bend my head forward and start crying. Tears are dripping onto the covers.

“And I love you too.”

I head suddenly jerks and I see Jenny’s eyelids flicker – and then very slowly, as if her lids are very heavy, she opens her eyes.

“Jenny,” I whisper. “It’s me, Frank.”

She looks at me blearily – and smiles.

“Hi, baby,” she mumbles.

“Hi, love,” I respond with a smile. I wipe clumsily at my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “How are you?”

“Terrible. And sore. Like I’ve done ten rounds with Mike Tyson. What about you? You’ve got that cut…”

“Nothing for you to worry about, darling. I’m fine. Right now, let’s concrete on you getting better so I can take you home in time for Christmas.”

“OK,” she says hoarsely, nodding. “Is… is there water?”

I pour a glass of water, but since she’s in no condition to move, I pop in a straw. “Here you go.” I help slide the straw between her lips. I watch while she takes a sip and the steady stream of fluid flows down her throat. She pulls her head back to indicate that she’s finished sipping. I pull the drink away and place the glass on the desk next to her bed.

“Thanks,” Jenny says. After a slight pause she says, “I’m sorry I scared you into thinking I was dead. I-I didn’t mean it.”

“Ssh, ssh, it’s OK. I know you didn’t mean to scare me. You were just doing your job. I mean that’s what being a secret agent is about – risking your life for others. Besides, you had some pretty neat tricks up your sleeves, didn’t you? The doctor told me about the squibs.”

“Hmm. I had a feeling that sneaky bastard Phillips will pull something like that, so when I changed into my catsuit, I changed into one that had squibs underneath.”

“You truly are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Jenny smiles in response. Then she asks, “How is Director Fairchild?”

“She’s gonna be fine. Stark said that the doctors extracted all the curry powder out of her and they’ll be keeping watch of her over the next week.”

“And Casey?”

“She’s fine, too. We know that she didn’t want to work for Phillips – she was blackmailed into it by him.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore – none of us do. As of now, he’s burning in hell, where he belongs. Anyway, how are the team? Are they OK?”

“They’re tired, but otherwise OK. Blane and Daisy are also fine.”

“Cool.” Suddenly a smile lights up her entire face. “I just suddenly remembered – you owe me £50. I managed to get Blane and Daisy together before midnight.”

“Really?”

Jenny nods. “There’s evidence of them kissing on my watch-communicator, and it was taken minutes before midnight. That means I win the bet, and you have to be my slave for the week. Although, you really don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

I kiss the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t care if I was your slave for one hundred years; I would be very glad to serve you and protect you… and love you.”

Jenny’s eyes are brimming with tears.

“Awww!”

Jenny and I jump and turn to the door, where Carrie, Rose, Daisy, Oscar, Blane and Lenny are crowding at.

“You two are so cute together – even if one of you is lying in a hospital bed,” says Carrie.

“Hey, guys,” says Jenny. “What are you doing standing out there for? Come in.”

Lenny and the team enter the room and gather round the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Lenny asks, beaming at Jenny.

“Sore and still, but other than that, I’m great,” she says. “How are you guys?”

“We’re doing all right, thanks to you – and Rose and Blane and Daisy,” says Oscar.

“Yeah – if it wasn’t for you guys, we would have been… The point is we are forever grateful and we owe you a debt of gratitude,” says Carrie.

“I’m sure that once Director Fairchild is fully recovered, she’ll present the four of you a MI9 Medal of Honour for bravery,” says Lenny. “You not only saved the lives of the agents that were kidnapped, you stopped a former operative from breaking into the vault and stealing the most dangerous weapons stored inside, and deactivated the C-4 failsafe. If that doesn’t get you a medal, then I don’t know what will. The four of you deserve it.”

“Thanks, Lenny,” says Rose. Then she turns to Jenny. “And thank you, Jen, for not giving up even though the odds were against us.”

“Yeah – if you hadn’t come up with those brilliant plans and ideas in stopping Phillips, he would have disappeared into the night with MI9’s high-risk weapons,” Daisy chimes in.

“Plus you had faith in us stopping Phillips and his men when the adult agents had doubt in us,” Blane adds. Then he puts his arm around Daisy. “And you got me to confess my feelings to Daisy, for which I was rewarded with a kiss. So we have you to thank on that – and of course for believing in us in stopping the bad guy and saving MI9. Thanks, Jen.”

“Thank you, Jen,” the others say.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“Wow – quite the party in here!” says Doctor Nathan, entering the room. “And I’m sure Miss Brownstone would like you to stay here all night, I’m afraid she needs her sleep – as do all of you. So, chop chop – out you all go.”

Everyone says their goodnights to Jenny and leave the room. I stand up and I’m about to walk out when Jenny tugs my arm.

“Please don’t go,” she says. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I turn to Doctor Nathan who nods her head, and then she takes her leave.

I sit back down and hold Jenny’s hand. “It’s OK, Jen. I’m here – I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” she replies.

“I’m so glad that you’re all right. I don’t know what I would do without you. You mean everything to me and I just can’t live without you.”

“Neither can I,” Jenny smiles.

“You better get some sleep,” I tell her.

“OK.” Jenny closes her eyes. Then she says, “Could you do me a favour, Frank? Could you sleep to me? I feel I could sleep better with you singing – and I know you have a nice singing voice.”

I don’t really have a nice singing voice and I can’t sing all that well, but I nod. “Sure.” I rack my brain about what song I can sing. After a few seconds I come up with the perfect one – Nat King Cole’s ‘Unforgettable’. It’s me and Jenny’s favourite song. I take a deep breath and start: “Unforgettable; that’s what you are…”

I imagine that it’s only me and Jenny in the entire hospital. I sing softly to her while she lies peacefully in her bed.

By the time I’ve finished, Jenny is sound asleep. She looks so cute and peaceful. A soft, tender smile passes over my face, and I stroke her hair affectionately. Then I lean forward and gently kiss her forehead. “Sleep tight, Jen,” I whisper.

When sit back in my chair, I let out a yawn. I look at my watch. It’s just after two-thirty in the morning. Gosh, what a night. What started out as a Christmas party on a luxury boat has ended with my boss and my girlfriend lying in a hospital bed – and they were put there by some madman hellbent on getting revenge on everyone because he blamed them rather than himself for getting caught. I just hope that in due time everyone can put this terrible event behind them.

I feel my eyelids getting heavy. I get into a comfortable position in my chair and place my head next to Jenny’s on the pillow – our foreheads touching. Then I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, with my hand still clasped with Jenny’s.


	46. Martha London

**(Jenny’s POV)**

There are many things in the world that scare people. For some, it’s spiders. Others will say they’re afraid of heights. Most will even be frightened of clowns. Luckily, I’m not scared of any of them. I’m a fearless, feisty and courageous person. I’ve gone up against villains, criminals and petty low-life scum. Anything they throw at me, I throw at them back tenfold, and I always come out a winner. Those guys don’t scare me. Nothing scares me – not even death! That is until today.

I’m feeling timid and nervous as I’m sitting in an expensive restaurant with Frank while we wait for someone. This person is the reason why I’m feeling so anxious. I’ve only got one chance to impress them. This person could either make me… or break me.

I’m talking about Martha London – a former MI9 field agent turned secretary, now retired. She is also Frank’s mother. This will be the first time I’ll be meeting her, and there’s a part of me that’s worried I’m gonna do something that’s gonna make her dislike me. Or maybe she’ll act all kind and sweet to me when Frank is around but the minute his back is turned, she’s gonna turn into a nasty, possessive jerk who’s gonna pull out all the stops to ridicule, abuse and undermine me – until Frank comes back and she’s all nicey nice again. But there’s also another part of me that’s hoping she’s gonna be actually sweet and easy-going – like my mum was when Frank and I visited her and the rest of the family – Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie included – over Christmas.

We had to come up with an excuse as to why I was in a sling and I had a cut on my forehead that’s puckered up with black thread, and why Frank had stitches on his face as well. I didn’t want my family thinking we had one big, almighty argument, but I couldn’t exactly tell them that I stopped an ex-MI9 operative turned maniac from killing his former colleagues and stealing highly dangerous weaponry from the vault. So in the end, I told them I got a little too tipsy at the Christmas party I was at and fell down some stairs, while Frank told my family that he tried to break up a fight and he got smacked in the face with a woman using her diamond ring as a weapon. Anyway, after we spun that little tale, we enjoyed a nice little Christmas lunch. Frank, the gentleman that he is, helped my mum prepare the dinner. He was very chatty with her, while my mum was asking him all sorts of stuff, laughing and joking, almost flirting with him (which I found a bit weird considering that a, she’s old enough to be his mum and b, she’s married to my dad and he was in the next room!). And like any other parent, she shared embarrassing stories about me. She even showed him old baby photos of me after lunch. Frank was crooning and having a good laugh while my face was hot with embarrassment. Eventually, my dad came to the rescue and took the photo album away from Mum and told her to stop tormenting me. It all worked out in the end though – Mum was absolutely smitten with him and Frank said he liked my mum. And it was then that he suggested I should meet his mother – on the weekend after New Year’s.

So here we are – sitting in a swanky restaurant in Park Lane, on a Friday night, offering breathtaking and stunning views over London from the twenty-eighth floor, including iconic sites such as Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace.

I spent more than an hour getting ready for this dinner. I went for a jeans and sparkly top combo, but decided that they looked like I’m going out clubbing. I put on a low-cut outfit, which looked far too sexy and showed off a lot of my cleavage. In the end, I opted for a yellow sheath dress with matching leather heels, and black and white beaded earrings and necklace. My hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, with the side parting covering up my stitches. Frank doesn’t look shabby himself – he’s sporting a brushed cotton blazer featuring black flocked trim on the lapels and pockets, button details at the sleeves and a silky black lining. Underneath, is a white tailored shirt, a narrow black satin tie and dark indigo jeans with turned up cuffs. Like me, he too has his hair tied back, but he’s not wearing his glasses, which makes him look even more handsome.

God, I’m still a bit anxious. I’ve been fidgeting and squirming in my chair for the past ten minutes. I need to get myself together. I pour myself a glass of water. I gulp it, trying to calm down.

“Jenny?”

I splutter, spilling some of the water down my chin and onto my dress.

“Hey, hey, careful!” Frank is stroking my back until my coughing subsides. “Are you OK?”

I nod my head vigorously. “Yep, yep, I’m fine,” I say, in this silly little squeak. I get a hankie out and wipe my chin, then give the water stain a quick rub. “Oh gosh, I’m such a clumsy idiot, aren’t I? Spilling water all over myself. And I just recently bought this dress from Dorothy Perkins during the January sales for this occasion, and now I got water all over it because I’m such a klutz,” I burble.

“Ssh,” Frank says gently. “It’s OK to be nervous – I know I was when I met your mother.”

I scoff. “That’s easy for you to say – you’ve met plenty of your ex-girlfriend’s mothers, and they love you. I’m gonna be meeting your mother for the very first time and there’s a chance I’m gonna do something stupid that’s gonna make her hate me.”

“Now that’s enough of that. My mother is going to love you, just like I love you.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I mean, uh, not in _that_ way. But uh, you know, like in a daughter-she-never-had kind of way,” Frank stammers, looking a little pink. “You know what I mean. My point is that my mother is going to adore you. I’ve already told her about you and she was over the moon when I told her about our engagement, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“But Frank –” I start.

He raises his finger to my lips and smiles. “No buts. Just trust me on this, OK?”

I nod. “OK.”

“Good.” He holds onto my hands, leans forward and kisses me on the corner of my mouth, so lightly I’m not totally sure it has actually happened. “You’re gonna be fine – just be yourself, all right?”

I take a deep breath and nod.

Frank glances up. “Here she is now.”

There’s no turning back now.

I gaze at Frank’s direction and standing at the entrance of the restaurant, is a tall woman, slender and graceful, with bright blue eyes and a beauty mark above her upper lip, wearing exquisite clothing and accessories. My eyes widen with apparent surprise. No. It can’t be – can it? _That’s_ Martha London? No way – it can’t possibly be her. But it is – she sees me and Frank and her face lights up, waving her fingers at us. Frank waves back while I waggle my fingers back foolishly. Then the waiter ushers the elegant woman to our table.

I can’t take my eyes off of her. She’s definitely not what I was expecting. Rather than looking like some little old spinster lady like Miss Marple, she exudes pure glamour and grace, like Elizabeth Taylor. She’s supposed to be in her sixties, but doesn’t look a day over forty. She has perfect posture – rare for a tall woman – and holds her head high, pronounced chin proudly forward, in a manner so natural it seems almost forced. Her rich, dark brown hair with fabulous white streaks is pulled back in a chic knot, deliberately loose enough to look casual but still supremely neat. And don’t get me started on her outfit – it’s simply divine! It starts with a camel-coloured coat and sheath skirt made of flannel. The coat features tiny brown buttons and fur plush trim. Underneath is an impeccable ivory knit sweater with pearl buttons that’s piped in camel-coloured charmeuse. Upscale accessories include brown gloves, taupe tights, a leopard print bag with leather and snakeskin details, a brown fur scarf, brown heels, a golden charm bracelet and a sparkling rhinestone brooch. She does not appeal to look particularly intimidating. She seems rather gentle and somewhat fragile.

“Frankie, darling!” she cries when she reaches our table. Her voice is high and plummy.

Frank stands up and greets his mother with a kiss to the cheek. “Hello, Mummy. You’re looking lovely as always.”

“Oh, stop!” Martha playfully swats her son. “But thank you for that. You don’t look to bad yourself. You look more like your father every day.”

“Let me take your coat.” He helps Martha out of her coat and drapes it over her chair. Then he pulls out her seat.

“Thank you, dear,” she says, sitting down and taking off her gloves. She’s trained him well.

As soon as she’s comfortable, Martha turns her head to look me in the eye – and smiles! “Hello,” she says. “I take it you are the very lucky lady who captured my sweet Frankie’s heart.”

“Yes, she is,” Frank answers, taking his seat. “Mummy, may I introduce you to my beautiful fiancée, Jenny Brownstone? Jen, this is my equally beautiful mother, Martha London.”

Martha extends her hand. “How do you do?” she says.

“How do you do?” I respond, shaking her hand. The hand she holds is feminine, soft, with long, graceful fingers of a concert pianist. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs London.”

“Oh please, dear. No need for formalities – just call me Martha.”

“Martha,” I repeat, nodding in affirmation.

A waiter comes to our table and hands us three large menus. I open mine up and hold it up in front of me so I can’t see Martha. I close my eyes and let out a mental sigh.

“Psst. Jen.”

I open my eyes and turn to Frank, leaning towards me. He too is holding is menu up so his mother can’t see him.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah – I think. I mean, I was OK, wasn’t I?” I ask.

“You were great. Mother seems to have taken an instant liking to you. What do you think of her?”

“She seems kind. Pleasant. And very elegant. She wasn’t what I was expecting. She looks like a glamorous Hollywood actress. She’s the kind of woman who wouldn’t be seen dead in the usual granny gear. I bet she has men hitting on her left, right and centre.”

“You’ve got that right. I often wonder why she never remarried. It certainly wasn’t from the lack of offers.”

“What are you two lovebirds twittering about?” we hear Martha ask. Frank and I put down our menus. “Were you two talking about me? Good things, I hope.”

“Er, yes, they were, actually,” I say. “I was just saying how graceful and stylish you look.”

“Thank you, dear. And I must say you are looking stunning tonight yourself.”

I feel a wave of colour flush my cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you,” I mumble.

Martha smiles in response. “So are you ready to order?”

She calls for the waiter while I quickly look through the menu at the list of pricey dishes – the cheapest being twenty-four pounds. In the end, I go for a deep-fried courgette flower, bocconcini, caponata and braised coco beans; Frank orders ballotine of foie gras, marinated prunes, orange and pain d'épice; and Martha goes for scallops ceviche, Aquitaine caviar, pickled kohlrabi and sweet soy, along with a fairly expensive bottle of red wine. The waiter takes his leave after writing down our orders.

“So let’s see it, then,” says Martha. I stare, confused. “The ring!”

Ah-ing, I show my future mother-in-law the ring that Frank slipped on my finger.

“It’s beautiful – it truly is,” she says. She lets out a small excited squeal. “Ooh, you have no idea how thrilled I am. I can’t believe my little boy is getting married.” Martha pinches Frank’s cheek.

“Mummy, please! There are people here.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s just… I’m so happy for you. And I know that your father would be, too. If only he was here.”

Frank takes hold of his mother’s hand. “I know. I miss him, too. And I’m sure that he would have loved Jenny like a daughter.”

“We would have got on like a house on fire,” I say. “Frank told me James was one of MI9’s finest agents.”

Martha nods. “He was indeed. As well as the finest agent, he was the most dashing. He gave you a look that would make you weak at the knees. I have a picture of him if you’d like to see it.”

She goes into her bag and fishes out her purse. From the purse she brings out a photograph and hands it to me.

“Wow,” I murmur as I stare at the headshot. Martha was right – James London was certainly good-looking, especially with those incredible blue-grey eyes. His hair is short and black hair, with a comma of which falls on his forehead, over the right eyebrow. His jawline is the stuff that leading men in Hollywood would paid megabucks to achieve at the cosmetic surgeon’s office – but I know immediately that his is completely natural – and there is a three-inch long, thin vertical scar on his right cheek.

“He’s so handsome,” I say, handing the photo back to Martha.

“Yes, he was,” she says. She looks down at the picture and sighs. “I remember the day I first met him. I just graduated from MI9’s training facility after spending three years there. I was approached by them when I left university. As well as being the daughter of an MI6 agent, I’m also multilingual and can carry out fast and accurate calculations having studied Modern and Medieval Languages, and Mathematics at Cambridge. Anyway, I remember entering Thames House for my first day as translator and data analyst. I was ready to make a brilliant first impression – only for me to run into a gentleman when I rounded the corner to get into the office, spilling my latte all over his suit. When I recovered from the collision, I realized how attractive he was. I retrieved my silk handkerchief from my bag and nervously wiped at the coffee satin, apologizing as I did so, but he told me not to worry about it. I was grinning like a teenage girl with a crush on the teacher. His features was so powerful, I could barely maintain direct eye contact. I apologized again for ruining his suit, explaining to him that it was my first day and I was excited and nervous at the same time that I wasn’t paying attention, and how I offered to have the suit dry-cleaned. He told me it wasn’t necessary as he never liked that suit – he even thanked me for crashing into him like that. Then he introduced himself to me as James London. I was going to tell him my name when my superior told James to stop flirting with the girls and told me to get my behind in the office at once. James said that he would see me around and with a wink he walked off. I felt so giddy I could barely concentre with my work. He was all I could think about. As he was a field agent, I didn’t see much of him, but when he would leave or come back from his missions he would visit and we would exchange witty, flirtatious conversations. He was the dream – or at least I thought he was.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Martha exhales deeply. “Well… after about eight months of flirting and dreaming hopelessly about him, I decided to ask James out for a drink. I spent a whole week getting myself spruced up – hair, nails, clothes, you know. Anyway, after work on Friday and spending half an hour calming my nerves, I went over to James’ office. But when I got there, I saw a large group of women surrounding him. They were flirting with him, teasing him, caressing him sensually – and he didn’t seem to mind at all. I shot off and sat in the toilets, crying. When I came out fifteen minutes later, I bumped into one of my colleagues, Christian Winfield. Apparently he noticed how upset I was when I saw those women around James. It was then Christian told me that James was a well-known womanizer. He was always flirting with women, dating them, seducing them, sleeping with them, and then abandoning them, leaving them heartbroken – whether he was on an assignment or not. After that I started to avoid James. Whenever he walked by, I didn’t smile at him. Whenever he spoke me, I didn’t meet his eyes or I would reply with a curt, “fine” if he asked me how I was. Whenever I entered the office, I would find small gifts or flowers from him – but I always threw them in the bin. He was always going out of his way to try to impress me to get a smile out of me, only to end up making a fool out of himself most of the time, and I still regarded him as an arrogant and obnoxious toerag, treating him with absolute disdain – despite the fact I still had romantic feelings for him. This went on for two years.”

“Whoa,” I murmur. I always thought that Martha and James fell head over heels in love with each other when they first met; instead James was a smooth-talking Casanova who seduced women into the bedroom – on and off missions – and Martha avoided him for two years because she didn’t want to fall for his charms and be left broken-hearted.

I’m so engrossed with the story I don’t realize our food on the table until Martha takes a bite out of her scallop ceviche and takes a sip of wine. Frank is already munching into his starter. I want to dig into mine but there’s one thing I’ve just got to know.

“Wait a minute. You two got together in the end. What happened?”

Martha takes another sip of wine. “SKUL happened,” she says. “They had a mole inside MI9, and he had leaked a hallucinogenic drug which caused people to suffer bad dreams, giving SKUL the opportunity to wreak havoc and commit crimes without getting caught. The only people who weren’t caught up in the commotion were the agents assigned on their missions – including James, who was in Washington. When he came back and saw the chaos that was happening in MI9, he went after the person responsible and… well, let’s just say that the mole is spending the rest of his life in prison drinking his food through a straw. But before James beat the mole into a bloody, semi-paralyzed pulp, he made the mole create an antidote. As soon as the antidote was discharged, everyone went back to normal, dazed and confused about what happened. Some of us were injured during the frenzy, including me. Apparently, one of my colleagues thought I was an evil clown trying to kill him so he gave me a crack across the head, knocking me out cold.”

“Ouch,” I mutter.

“I was unconscious for five weeks,” Martha continues. “When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital room with James slumped over my bed. When he woke up and saw me, he burst into tears, saying how I was going to be all right. He never left my side in the five weeks I was in a coma. He talked non-stop, read Jane Austen novels to me because she’s my favourite author, and brought pink roses as they are my favourite flowers. He neglected his duties to MI9 to be with me. I didn’t understand why he was doing this as I have been avoiding him. It turns out that he developed feelings for me just weeks after he first saw me. At first I was suspicious – I thought he was saying all that because I was lying in hospital, but he told me that loved my smile. He found it rather arresting. He said he enjoyed coming into MI9 and see me greet him with a bright smile. He said that some nights he’d wake up in the middle of the night, body drenched with sweat after dreaming about running his hands over my body. There were days when he couldn’t even concrete on his work because all he could think about was stripping my clothes off, one article at a time – tasting every delectable inch of me…”

“Mother!” Frank cries out – earning some odd looks from the diners and earning himself a very pink face.

“Sorry, darling. Anyway, it seems that, by that time, James had matured somewhat and stopped flirting and sleeping with women. This led to me agreeing to go out with him; and my attractions to him grew into genuine affection and eventually love.

“We went out for two years before James decided to propose to me. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a few days before Christmas – he took me out to dinner to Clos Maggiore, the most romantic restaurant in London. Then he took me on a horse drawn carriage ride and we snuggled up under a warm blanket together as we travelled at a leisurely pace through the Royal Parks, and viewing some of London’s fascinating sights – Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square and Westminster Cathedral. Halfway through the ride, someone dressed up as Santa stopped the carriage and asked for my name and then told me that he had a little something for me. ‘Santa’ pulled box after box out and handed them to me, each one having a small toy. Finally, after several presents, he handed a small box to me, containing an engagement ring, and that’s when James got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.”

“Awww! That is so romantic,” I croon.

“It was indeed – and of course I said yes. We got married on Christmas Day, 1980.” Martha goes into her purse and hands me another photograph. “This is us on our wedding day.”

“Aw – don’t they look lovely?” I say, showing the photograph to Frank. And they do. James looks incredibly handsome in his morning suit, complete with top hat, kid leather gloves and a white carnation in the lapel. And Martha looks stunningly gorgeous in a beautiful brocade fabric that forms a gored A-line dress with empire waist, long sleeves and roll collar. Fur and gold/white braid accent the cuffs and hem. The headpiece features a Juliet cap of brocade trimmed in front with braid and a double layer of tulle for the veil. She’s carrying a bouquet of seven white flowers with green net and white satin ribbon streamers. White gloves and white tee strap shoes complete the lovely ensemble.

“You were very beautiful, Martha,” I say, handing back the photo to her. “And you still are now.”

“Thank you, dear,” she says. “The ceremony was a quiet affair – family and friends only, with a few of our MI9 colleagues present. Our honeymoon was in the Caribbean aboard a luxury cruise ship – which was hijacked by terrorists. They installed an atomic bomb, holding both the passengers and the bomb hostage, hoping to exchange them £70 million ransom in gold. We worked with the ship’s first officer to stop the terrorists and disarmed the bomb.”

“No way,” I breathe. That is incredibly bad-ass.

“I was immediately promoted to field agent after that,” Martha carries on. “James and I travelled all over the world, using our wits and muscle to stop the villains and save the world. After about nineteen months, we were assigned to rescue the wife of the UK Ambassador to the nation of Verrani. In exchange for her release, the revolutionaries wanted their imprisoned fellow revolutionaries freed. We rescued the ambassador’s wife and defeated the kidnappers. After that mission, we discovered that I was pregnant.”

I let out a gasp. “Please, please, please tell me you have pictures of Frank as a baby.”

Martha brings a few photographs from her bag and hands them to me. I immediately start fawning over the pictures – this little baby in Martha’s arms tugging at her long brown hair, another of Frank, probably aged three, taking a piggy-back ride on his father’s back, another with him as a baby in a bathtub and a ridiculously cute photo of toddler Frank naked, butt-up on a rug.

“Oh my God, Frank. You looked so adorable!” I coo, as he’s going beet red.

“Francis James London – born on the 27th of August, 1983, weighing seven pounds and eight ounces,” says Martha. “Six months after the birth I returned to my old desk job, but James was frequently away from Frank on missions, meaning that I had to care for him myself – with some help from my father and sister as James had no family.” She lets out a sigh. “Before he left for his final mission, I begged and pleaded with James to not go as I had a feeling that something bad would happen to him. But he swore his loyalty to his country, and he knew I couldn’t go with him because of Frank, but he promised me that after the mission, he would leave MI9 and the three of us could be a family. I reluctantly agreed. We said our goodbyes and I love you’s, he kissed goodbye Frank – who was five years old at the time… and that was the last time we ever saw him.”

I feel the tears stinging in my eyes. I take Frank’s hand and give a little squeeze. He squeezes back.

“Six weeks went past since James disappeared and I was informed that they called off the search as they couldn’t find him. Two days after learning the news… I had a miscarriage.”

“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “You were pregnant?”

Martha nods. “I was a month and a half along. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I started getting cramps and pains, and I felt very faint and light-headed. I was taken to hospital where I was told the news. The doctors said that it was due to psychological trauma of James’ death. I was prescribed antidepressants and referred to a counsellor. After about a year, I had to start accepting that James was gone and I had to move on because he would have wanted me to do.

“With the money that James left to me when he passed, I could’ve left MI9, taken Frank away and we could have lived quietly for the rest of our lives. But I had a duty to do – and that was to serve and protect the public. So I continued to serve the agency – but not as a spy. I told my superiors I was not fit for field work, and should remain only in a desk job at MI9. It was then I was offered role of secretary to the Director General. It was a role I maintained for twenty-three years, until I retired in 2012. I’ll admit it wasn’t easy being personal assistant to the head of MI9 while bringing up a child but I somehow managed to raise Frank to be the man that he is today.”

“And I must say you did an excellent job,” I say. “He’s smart, chivalrous, courteous, and honourable. He is a true gentleman indeed.”

“Like father, like son,” says Martha, while Frank flushes with pride at the compliments. Then she shakes her head as if she’s breaking out of a daydream. “Anyway, listen to me going on about myself. I want to know everything about you, Jenny. First, let’s finish off our starters and then order our main meals.”

We do just that, along with taking in the peerless views of London. When we finish our plates, Frank calls over the waiter and we order the main course. After the waiter leaves the table, I begin to tell Martha all about myself – my family, education, hobbies and of course, juggling my work as a teacher and an agent.

“Fascinating – absolutely fascinating,” says Martha. “And now that I know everything about you, I’ve just got to ask: how you and Frankie meet?”

“Actually, Mummy, there’s something you should know,” says Frank before I can answer. “When Jen and I first met, she thought I was just the caretaker and I thought she was just a teacher, not knowing that we were both concealing our true professions from one another.”

“What Frank is saying is that when we met at St Hope’s, I didn’t know he was an MI9 agent and he didn’t know that I was… the Cat,” I explain, whispering the last two words to Martha.

She blinks a couple of times, not saying a word. Our meal arrives and she still doesn’t say anything.

“Mother, say something,” says Frank.

There’s another moment of silence. Then, “Well,” she starts, “this has certainly come as a surprise. Who would have thought that the person you were after was right under your nose?”

Frank and I cast each other brief glances before our eyes darted back to his mother.

“To think that my future daughter-in-law was the cat-costumed crime-fighter,” Martha goes on. “And I have to say that I am most excited to finally meet the person who ran rings around MI9.”

It’s my turn to be silent – but only for a few seconds. “Oh,” I say. “Ah… thank you.”

“I should tell you now that I greatly admired the Cat. Director Fairchild and I would always talk about how we wanted to recruit you – and it seems it the director has won you over.”

“In more ways than one.” And as we eat, I progress in telling Martha my time as the Cat – from how I started, my missions, when I was with Frank – on and off and back on again – and to when I was recruited to MI9.

“My word – what an exciting tale,” says Martha when I finish. “I’m so glad MI9 recruited you. Such an exciting and daring adventure you have had. My late husband would have definitely loved you – he was always a bit of a daredevil.” She finishes off the rest of her plate and dabs her lips with a napkin. “You know, Jen, when I came in here and saw you, I knew you were perfect for my son – not only are you courageous, you’re also beautiful and intelligent, but most of all… you make him happy.”

I feel myself blush. “Thank you. And you’ll be pleased to know that Frank makes me happy, too.” I turn to him and smile. “And I love him.”

Frank smiles back. “I love you, too.”

“Then you have my blessing,” I hear Martha say.

I turn my head back to her. “You really mean that?”

Martha nods. “I want wish you both a long and happy life together.”

“Oh, Mummy.” Frank leans over and pulls her into his embrace. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You’re a good boy, Frankie, and I trust that you will treat this girl the same way you’ll treat me.”

“You can count on that. I’m gonna spoil Jen like the princess that she is.” Frank pulls back and takes hold on my hand. “She’s my special girl.”

I feel myself blush at his comment.

“This calls for a celebration,” says Martha, and refills our glasses. “I propose that we all drink to the health and happiness of Frankie and the woman that he, to my great joy, is adding permanently to our family: Jenny Brownstone.” Martha raises her glass. “To Frank and Jenny.”

“To us,” Frank and I say, raising our glasses.

I bring the glass to my lips, ready to take a sip when the sound of cutlery, glasses and crockery smash to the floor from across the restaurant – and then there is a high-pitched scream: “Oh, my God! He’s dead!”


	47. Pretty Poison

**(Frank’s POV)**

The whole restaurant is suddenly appallingly silent. The eating, the conversations, and pretty much the whole atmosphere come to an abrupt halt due to the scream. Nobody moves – besides me, my mother and Jenny, as we spring into action. We stand up, push back our chairs and head to where the scream came from. A small crowd of people when we approach the table across the room are standing in a circle round a seemingly lifeless body on the ground. The body is a man in his mid-forties, rather naturally skinny in physique, with light brown hair, and thick matching eyebrows, wearing a black pinstripe suit with a red square pocket, a white shirt and a red tie, his thin black glasses lopsided. Even though his face is covered in chocolate mousse, I instantly recognize him as Nigel Hawtrey, an amiable and courteous Crown Prosecutor of the Crown Prosecution Service.

“Oh my goodness!” my mother cries when we arrive. Jenny kneels down beside the unconscious lawyer, placing her index and middle fingers on his neck to check his pulse. Then she checks if he is still breathing: listening over his mouth and nose for breathing and feel his breath against her cheek.

“He’s not breathing,” she says, and starts pushing hard on Hawtrey’s ribcage. She pushed again. Then again.

“How did this even happen?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” says a man. He’s bent over Hawtrey, his mouth lopsided, gaping in shock. He’s very tall, slightly obese but looks muscular at the same time with a dark complexion, black hair, and light brown eyes, dressed in a black suit. A violet-blue tie, plum-coloured dress shirt and sleek black dress shoes complete his look. Again, I recognize him as Immanuel Anderson, businessman and investor. “One minute we were just chattin’ and the next thing I know, Nigel passed out into his chocolate mousse.”

“Does he have any allergies?” Mummy asks.

“Not that I know of. Is he gonna be OK?”

“We’re doing everything that we can,” I say. “Has someone called an ambulance?”

“One of the waiters is phoning for one now.”

I kneel next to Jenny. “How’s he doing?”

“Not good,” she replies, still pushing on Hawtrey’s chest. “His pulse is getting weaker and weaker. He’ll be dead before the paramedics get here. We need something to maintain his consciousness. Any ideas?”

Before I can offer a suggestion, my mother calls out to the room, “Does anyone have an EpiPen on them?”

“An EpiPen? But Nigel doesn’t have an allergies,” says Anderson.

“I know you said he doesn’t, but the EpiPen injection contains epinephrine – a chemical that narrows blood vessels and opens airways in the lungs, and increase heart rate so he can stay conscious long enough for the paramedics to get here.”

Suddenly, a man in a grey suit with a grey face comes up to my mother and pulls out the auto-injector from inside his jacket pocket. “Here,” he says. “You can use mine.”

Mummy smiles gratefully at the man as she takes the EpiPen. “Thank you, kindly, sir,” she says. She kneels opposite me and Jenny. She pulls off the safety cap of the auto-injector and with a quick motion, pushes the auto-injector firmly against Hawtrey’s outer thigh, releasing the spring-loaded needle that injects the dose of EpiPen. Mummy holds the auto-injector in place for a few seconds after activation. After she removes the auto-injector, Mummy massages the injection site for ten seconds.

A moment or so later, she gently places two fingers on the inside of Hawtrey’s wrist to check his pulse rate. “His pulse is weak, but it’s there.”

Everyone in the restaurant breathes a sigh of relief at the news. Mummy instructs me and Jenny to place Hawtrey in the recovery position. We do just that, and we patiently wait for the ambulance to arrive – which isn’t very long as they arrive five minutes later. The paramedics carry Hawtrey away, with Anderson following behind.

“Let’s follow them,” says Mummy. I turn to her. “I have to know if he’s going to make it.”

Jenny nods in agreement and after quickly paying for our meals, we exit the restaurant via elevator and step out of the London Hilton, where the ambulance has pulled away from the pavement and dashes off to the hospital.

“Taxi!” Jenny shouts, flagging one down. The taxi pulls up and she, Mummy and I pile into the cab. “Quick, follow that ambulance!” says Jenny, pointing to the ambulance. And then she adds, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The cab takes off and follows the ambulance, taking us to a private hospital in South Kensington. I pay the driver and follow Jenny and Mummy into the hospital. I see Anderson sitting in the waiting area.

“Mr. Anderson,” I say, approaching him.

He looks up. “Oh. It’s you again,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to see if your friend was all right,” says Mummy. “Do you mind if we wait with you?”

Anderson shakes his head. “Not at all.”

The three of us take a seat and we wait and we wait and we wait. And wait some more. After waiting for nearly half an hour, a young doctor, a tired-looking guy with dark lank greasy hair and glasses wearing a white lab coat comes up to us.

“Mr. Anderson?” says the doctor. “I’m Dr. Forrest.”

Anderson stands up. “How is Nigel? What’s the story? Heart attack?” he asks.

“No. I’m afraid to say that Mr. Hawtrey has been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?!”

Dr. Forrest nods. “Right now, he’s in a coma.”

“Excuse me, doctor,” I say, standing. “Are we talking about food poisoning here?”

“I doubt it. This is the most virulent strain of poison I’ve ever come across. But we’re doing everything we can.”

“Is Nigel gonna make it?” Anderson asks.

“The poison is racing though his system. If he’s going to make it, we need to find the antidote, and fast.”

“Can I go and sit with him?”

“Of course – right this way.” Dr. Forrest leads Anderson along the corridor.

“Excuse me, I’m need to use the ladies,” says Jenny, and rushes off.

“I can’t believe someone would poison that man. Who would do such a thing?” says Mummy.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I say. “Nigel Hawtrey is a Crown Prosecutor, so he would have made some enemies along the way. It’ll be difficult to find out who did it. Also, we need to find out what he was poisoned with so we can find an antidote.”

“Hmm. One of us will have to distract one of the doctors or nurses and Mr. Anderson so the other can take Mr. Hawtrey’s blood sample.”

“We don’t have to,” I hear Jenny say.

I turn to her. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“While letting you and your mother think I was popping into the ladies to powder my nose, I actually used my watch-communicator to turn myself invisible, followed the doctor and Anderson to Hawtrey’s room so I could scan the blood sample and have it analysed.”

“Really? That’s amazing, Jenny!” says Mummy. She gives me a nudge. “I like her more and more.”

Jenny starts to grin. Then we hear the sound of buzzing.

“The analysis is done,” she says. Jenny nudges up beside me and Mummy and opens up her watch-communicator. “It’s isolated the toxin. It’s a lethal poison derived from the plant _Rosaceae vularis_ commonly known as the Wild Thorny Rose.”

“Hmmmm. Maybe if I get a plant sample from Kew Gardens, I can use it to work up an antidote,” I say.

“I’m afraid this is unfeasible,” says Mummy.

“Why?” Jenny and I ask.

“Because, the Wild Thorny Rose has been extinct for nearly five years which means, I'm afraid… there’s no antidote.”

“Oh no,” says Jenny. “Now what do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do – well, not right now, it’s getting quite late. Let’s get some sleep and tomorrow, we’ll figure something out.”

The three of us get on our feet and leave the hospital. We head to a nearby tube station and hail for a taxi. To ensure that she gets home safely, I tell the taxi driver my mother’s address. At her destination, Mummy kisses me on the cheek to say goodnight and tells Jenny that it was lovely to meet her. After Mummy leaves, I tell the driver where to drop me and Jenny off. He takes us to our destination and I pay him, plus tip.

I let myself and Jenny in at home and head straight upstairs where we change out of our evening wear and into our pyjamas. Then we climb into bed and I close my eyes, allowing the pillow to suck me into sleep.

xxoOoxx

I sleep very late the next morning. My eyes flicker open but for a moment I stay completely still in the bed, lying on my back with my head resting on the pillow. I look to see if Jenny is still asleep – only to find her side of the bed empty, but there’s a note on the pillow saying she’s gone to the restaurant to see if she can obtain CCTV footage from last night to see who could have slipped the poison in Hawtrey’s food or drink.

“If the police have it, I’ll find out which station it is so I can download the footage into my watch-communicator,” Jenny writes.

After reading the note, I roll out of bed and go to the bathroom for a shower and then dress in dark wash skinny jeans and a blue button-front shirt. It’s a chilly morning so I put on my black sweatshirt too, and head down to the kitchen to make myself breakfast – bacon, sausages, eggs, and hash browns.

When I’m finished I decide to visit Hawtrey at the hospital to check on his condition. I take out my phone and call for a taxi. Then I text Jenny where I’m going, and then I grab my coat and dash off.

When I arrive at the hospital I ask the receptionist if I can see Hawtrey. But she tells me no visitors are allowed. Apparently after me, Mummy and Jenny left last night, the police arrived ten minutes later and now they’re guarding Hawtrey around the clock until an antidote is found. But since the antidote is the toxin that poisoned him no longer exists, Hawtrey will remain in a coma – or worse. I’m sure once Jen knows who poisoned Hawtrey; she’ll go straight after them and demand the antidote.

“Excuse me – I was wondering if I could see Nigel Hawtrey,” says a female voice.

“I’m sorry, miss. But as I told this gentleman here, no-one is allowed to see Mr. Hawtrey,” says the receptionist, referring me as the gentleman in question.

The woman turns to me. She has a very attractive face. Her skin is extremely pale and she has piercing green eyes. Her hair is a sizzling flame red; long and mostly straight with a few stray curls. She’s wearing a white furry jacket, black denim skinny jeans, a pink plaid scarf and a pink shirt, complete with black leather boots. The smell of her perfume wafts to my nostrils, tickling my senses with its rose-scented fragrance.

“Are you a friend of Nigel?” the woman asks.

“Erm… not exactly – I only met him last night,” I say. “Mr. Hawtrey collapsed at the Galvin at Windows and my mother and girlfriend were able to resuscitate him before he was rushed to the hospital. How do you know him?”

“I’m his girlfriend. Chelsea – Chelsea Eden.”

“Frank London.”

I lead Chelsea to the chairs in the waiting area and we sit.

“So you saw Nigel, huh? How was he?” she asks.

“Well, I didn’t exactly see him. All I know is that he’s in a coma… and that he was poisoned,” I tell her.

“Oh.” There’s a little pause. “When Immanuel called me and told me what happened, I was devastated – I couldn’t sleep. I mean… I just saw Nigel last night at the restaurant – he was well. And now he’s… Who would do such a terrible thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure the police are on the case.”

Chelsea nods, but I see her eyes welling up. “Oh Frank,” she says shakily. “What if Nigel doesn’t make it?”

“Now you can’t think that,” I say. “Hawtrey is going to fight this. Once the police found who they’re looking for, they’re gonna come at them for the antidote, give it to Hawtrey and he’ll be better.”

“You really mean that?” Chelsea’s large green eyes widen.

“Yes, I do.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Just think positive and believe that he’s going to be all right.”

Chelsea gives a grateful smile. “Oh, Frank, thank you.” Suddenly she’s leaning forward – lips puckered. She’s going to kiss me!

She reaches out to grab me but I back away, avoiding the kiss.

“Huh?” is all Chelsea can think to say.

“As I mentioned earlier, I have a girlfriend,” I say.

“Oh. Can I at least have a hug?”

I hesitate but reluctantly agree, and Chelsea wraps her arms around me.

“Ahem!”

I see what’s catching my attention out of the corner of my eye. I immediately wriggle away from Chelsea and stand up, trying to smooth my clothes and compose myself, though I’m hot and trembling.

The person is standing with their arms tightly crossed over their chest.

It’s Jenny.

“Jenny! Hi!” I try to be cool, to act as if I’m glad to see her there, but my voice is shaky, and I sound a bit _too_ glad.

“Hi, Frank. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” She walks up to me and Chelsea.

“Oh, no. No, no, you weren’t.” I motion to the redhead. “Erm, this-this… this is Chelsea Eden. She’s Nigel Hawtrey’s girlfriend,” I tell Jenny.

Jenny looks at the redhead suspiciously. “Hi,” she says, and wraps her arm around mine. “Jenny Brownstone – Frank’s _girlfriend_.”

Chelsea smiles for some reason, a thin, slow smile. “So, you’re Frank girlfriend?” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Frank just told me how you saved Nigel’s life – I’m very grateful.”

“Mmm,” Jenny mumbles.

“Anyway,” Chelsea stands up, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to run – places to go, people to see and whatnot. It was nice meeting you, Jenny.” She turns to me. “And it was _very_ nice meeting you, too, Frank.” With a wink, she sashays out of the hospital as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Jenny’s dark eyes glare after Chelsea, shooting daggers at the back of her head. “Who the hell does that cow think she is? Fluttering her fake eyelashes at you and throwing her around you like that. Ugh, I can still smell her old lady perfume on you. I need some air.” She pulls away from me and heads out of the hospital.

“Jen, it’s not what you think it is,” I say, following her. I catch her by the hand. “She was upset – she just wanted a bit of comfort.”

“It looked like she wanted more than that from where I was standing. She wanted to plant those trout pout lips on you.”

“You mean the almost kiss that never happened because I pulled away?”

“Maybe,” Jenny says, crossing her arms over her chest again. Her eyes are lowered, squirming where she stands.

“Oh, Jen.” I put my finger under her chin. “I’d rather throw myself under a train than throw myself into the arms of another woman. You know you’re the only girl in the whole world for me. You’re my special girl. Remember?”

She brings a faint blush to her cheeks. “Yes.” She leans into me, and I feel the touch of her lips on mine. “And don’t you forget it, mister.”

I give her a smile. “I won’t.”

“Good. And now that we got that out of the way, let’s get back to the business at hand. How is Hawtrey?”

“I couldn’t see him. His room is guarded by police, but my guess is his condition is the same. How did you get on?”

She gives me a thumbs-up. “I snuck into the London Hilton control room early this morning and downloaded the footage from last night at the restaurant into my watch-communicator before the police came. I was thinking that we could go to St Hope’s and watch the footage, isolate the culprit, go after them and get he or she to create an antidote.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

We walk to the tube station and catch a taxi to St Hope’s. When we get there we head for HQ where Jenny connects her watch-communicator to the computer and starts to flick through the footage.

“OK, here we go,” she says after finding the right one. We see the screen Hawtrey, Anderson and Chelsea having a chat over dinner.

“Let’s fast-forward this,” I say, speeding up the footage. A minute or two later I play the footage again, this time the three of them sharing a laugh over desserts. Just then, Chelsea stands up – looks like she’s leaving. But before leaving, she grabs Hawtrey and plants a deep kiss on him.

“Slag,” Jenny murmurs, but carries on watching the tape.

Hawtrey, a little flushed, continues to chat to Anderson. He’s tugging the collar of his shirt, he looks dizzy… then he passes out and goes face-first into the dessert and then collapses onto the floor.

“Go back again,” says Jenny. I do what she says and rewind the tape. “Stop there!”

I play the footage again of Chelsea kissing Hawtrey and then walking out of the restaurant – followed by Hawtrey falling forward and collapsing.

“Ah.” It’s an obvious conclusion. “I think we know how the poison got into Hawtrey.”

“Yep,” says Jenny, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Dig up anything you can on Chelsea Eden. Who she is, where she’s been, what she does, the works.”

“Consider it done.” I immediately get to work.

xxoOoxx

“Do you have anything, Frank?” Jenny asks half an hour later.

“Well, Dr. Chelsea Eden is a research chemist with Xiang, the cosmetics firm. She works on the development of new fragrances. Their newest is a perfume called Nightshade – apparently it’s ‘deadly’. She has a PhD in botany from the University of Leeds, and she offers a monthly lecture series on endangered and extinct plant species at the University of Westminster,” I tell her.

“Got an address?”

“She lives in Honeywood Close in Hampstead Heath.”

“Excellent.” Jenny heads towards the lift.

“Wait – you’re not serious in going by yourself?”

“Well, yeah. I mean it’s not like she’s the Grandmaster or anything. She doesn’t have guards to protect her – just her plants.”

“Yeah – plants that contain poisons, viruses, bacteria, and fungi for her to use against you. You saw what she did to Hawtrey.”

“Yes, I did.” Jenny sighs. “Look, Frank – I know you’re only looking out for me, but I as I told you before I can take care of myself. I’ve taken down every crazy, kooky, obsessive bad guy during my time as the Cat, and this one is no different.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t take care of yourself, I was hoping you can have someone with you as back-up in case something happens to you,” I say.

“I’m pretty sure that every agent in MI9 is either on their holidays, on a plane coming back from their holidays or on a mission. Leaving us to solve this – or in any case, me.” Jenny comes up to me and takes hold of my hands. “Frank, I’ll be fine. I won’t even be long – I’ll go over there and confront her, get the antidote, heal Hawtrey and I’ll be home in time for lunch. OK?”

I dither but I give in and nod. Smiling, Jenny gives me a quick kiss and rushes off into the lift, taking her back up into the school.

As much as I love her there are times when she can be very stubborn. I know she can take care of herself but sometimes she needs someone to have her back. The only thing is… there’s no-one to have her back. Like Jen said, every agent in MI9 is on his or her vacation, on a plane coming back from one or on assignment. I suppose I could follow her, but I can’t fall prey to Chelsea and her toxic lips. There must be someone…

A thought comes to me. There is one person – I don’t know if they’ll agree to it, but I’ll have to chance it. I bring out my phone and dial the number. After a few rings, the person answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Frank,” I say. “And I need your help.”

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’m circling above Hampstead Heath with my Jetpack Backpack trying to figure out where Honeywood Close is. The job of finding the place is proofing more difficult when a quarter of the park is covered with trees – and the fact that there are lots of people in the park enjoying their walking, running, swimming, kite-flying or taking their children to the adventure playground as it’s a Saturday so I can’t exactly walk around in my spy suit. But it looks like I may not have a…

“Mm?” Something is shimmering from the corner of my eye. I look to see where the light is coming from. The light shimmers again – it’s coming from the Heath. It looks like a house with a glass roof – that’s where the light is reflecting from. The house is surrounded by trees and shrubs and iron railings. It must be private – people are walking past the area and there is no-one approaching the house. Looks like I’ve found Eden’s secret hideout.

I make my landing in front of a black ornate gate with a sign that says: ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO TRESPASSING’. I glance quickly around the wooded area. Empty. Satisfied that the coast is clear, I go through the gate. It’s as if I’m in a magic garden from a children’s storybook. It seems quiet, but the birds are singing loudly. A flock of green parakeets circle over my head, screeching at me. I walk down the stony path. Suddenly I’m surrounded by colour, deep red, scarlet, orange, apricot, pink and purple, flowers in long hedges, flowers in bushes, flowers in trees. They’re all different flowers but I don’t know their names.

I must admit, they are beautiful.

I walk slowly down the path admiring the flowers, almost on tiptoe.

Up ahead, a stream trickles beneath the flower hedges, with a wooden footbridge.

I notice several mallards quacking further up the stream. There’s a duckpond further into the garden, with a huge weeping willow.

“Wow,” I breathe. As magical as it all is, I’ve got a job to do. I forget about the beauty of the garden and carry on up the path that leads into a clearing.

I seem to have stepped straight from the enchanted forest to the countryside. I’d never seen so much green before, all different shades of green, from the leaves, the ferns, and the grass. There’s a river with a small bridge. And in the middle of the clearing is a large, stainless glass dome with a pebbly path leading to it. I follow the path towards the glass dome.

I step inside and gasp. Various breeds of plants, trees and flowers are inside the dome. Many of which span from flowers, flytraps, vines and many others.

I realize instantly that I’m standing in a greenhouse.

“Whoa,” I whisper, walking further into the conservatory of green palms and great fans of fern, with pink and purple orchids everywhere. There are wonderful flowers and plants in rich crimsons and chrome yellow and jade green giving off a wonderful smell, along with the lush, tropical vegetation. I feel like I’m in the Garden of Eden. And speaking of Eden, I suddenly remember what I’m here for.

I shake my head to regain my senses and wander through the maze of the utopic garden, and after walking what feels like forever in a circle – but really has only been ten minutes – I see a flash of red hair. I wander up the aisle until I see a table with flower pots and test tubes on top of it. As I walk closer I see some the technological pieces, various machines, a computer, tables and bookshelves. It seems that this greenhouse doubles as a laboratory.

I hear humming. I dodge into the bushes, hiding myself. I fumble slowly through the shrubs, even though the branches are scratching my face and the leaves and twigs are in my hair.

I reach the clearing, keeping myself hidden in the bush. I see Eden emerging into her lab, wearing the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen – a one-piece, strapless metallic green leather bathing suit with attached leaves, a green belt with attached glitter tulle over skirt with leaves, green glittery tights, green lace gloves, green leather boots with leaves trim, and green rose earrings. Leaves also form her bracelets, necklace, and crown. Additionally, she’s carrying a miniature repeating crossbow on her right wrist.

She appears to be creating a formula using one of the flowers – a beautiful red rose. She plucks off a few petals from the rose and puts them in a cup. She pours water in the cup, and then she strains it out leaving the rose petals behind. Next, Eden places the moist rose petals in a bowl and mashes them using a mortar and pestle. Then she returns the mashed rose petals in the water and strains it out again. She keeps repeating the steps until the water turns a brown-pink-orange colour. Finally she takes the rose petals out and pours the coloured water into an empty perfume bottle. She spritzes the perfume in the air and takes a sniff.

“Ah, gorgeous,” she says. Then she turns to the rose. “Just like you.” She puts the perfume bottle down and gets a watering can and waters the flower. “Oh, you’ve done so well today, sweetheart. Now, get some rest and don’t worry. I won’t clip off any more of your beautiful petals unless I need them.”

“You won’t be clipping off anything for a long time where you’re going,” I whisper. It’s time to make my move.

But something has caught my ankle. I try to struggle free but the grip tightens. Just then I feel myself bring wrapped up by… _vines_?

“Hey! What the hell?” I cry. More vines ensnare me and suddenly I get lifted by the climbing plant. I try to get free from my restraints but stop when I find myself held over a gigantic Venus flytrap, large enough to engulf me.

“Oh shit,” I murmur. I can’t believe I’ve been seized and held prisoner by a plant.

“What has my sweet little flytrap caught this time?” I hear Eden say. She appears from the bushes. “A little big for a fly – or should I say spy. Hey, I know you – you’re the girl from the hospital. You’re Frank’s _girlfriend_. What were you called again? Janey…?”

“It’s _Jenny_ ,” I tell her.

“Oh yes, that’s it – _Jenny_.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I have a strong connection to nature. I can hear her voice speaking to me.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. I have hidden cameras in the garden and in the greenhouse. Anyway, to what do I owe the honour?”

“Nigel Hawtrey.”

“Oh, the poor Crown Prosecutor. I hear he’s not expected to live. It’s so sad.”

“Why, Eden?”

“You see, Nigel had to pay for his crime.”

“What crime?”

“Why, murder, of course. Plowing up a field of beautiful wildflowers for that silly prison up in Buckinghamshire.” Eden holds up the potted rose she watered. “This little rose – the Wild Thorny Rose – would be extinct today if I hadn’t saved my precious from those horrible bulldozers. The blood of those flowers is on his hands! So his fate was sealed with a kiss. And now so is yours.”

Before I can comprehend what she meant by what she said, I get lowered to Eden’s level. She’s applying a coating of the lipstick to her full red lips – the poison! I struggle not to get kissed by those toxic lips, but the branches from the flytrap hold my head steady. The redhead brings her lips down to mine. I fight try to it, keeping my lips tightly closed, but Eden shoves her tongue past my lips, right down my throat. My first kiss with a girl and unlike Katy Perry, I don’t bloody like it! Not that I have a problem with gay people, I just like to be kissed by someone – man or woman – who doesn’t have poison on their lips.

When the kiss ends I spit immediately, but I’m already feeling its effects. I feel so dizzy.

“What’s wrong? Afraid I have cooties? Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings. Too bad – I was going to share the antidote with you.” Eden mockingly holds up the perfume bottle I saw her make. “Lovely fragrance, don’t you think? I call it ‘Rose from the Dead’. Unfortunately for you, you won’t be the one to purchase this wonderful aroma. You see, I haven’t fed my flytrap today and my plant can get quite peckish if they haven’t eaten.”

The vines lift me up again and hovers me over the carnivorous plant. Its leaves open up, ready to devour me. I try to move my hands to try and get to my utility belt, but my arms are pinned to my sides and I’m weak from the poison. I can’t get free. I’m gonna get eaten alive by a plant. And there’s no-one to save me. Frank was right – I should’ve called for back-up. And now I’m gonna be plant food.

Eden holds her arm up. She’s aiming her crossbow at me – or rather at the vines. She fires and the arrow cuts the vine – and I fall. One second I’m in the air and there are screams – all mine – and then someone swoops in and catches me in a bridal carry, and I’m taken away from the plant’s leaves.

“What the…?” I exclaim, not believing what’s happening. The person who caught me lands on the ground, setting me down next to them and untying the vines from me. I feel too weak to stand and I feel quite faint, but the person supports me.

“Are you all right?” the person asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” I stare at the person who saved me. My mouth falls open in shock. I don’t know whether or not the poison is making me hallucinate. It can’t be – but it is. “No way! Martha?”

My mother-in-law to-be stands proudly with a smile on her face. She looks incredible! She wears a tight-fitting black leather jacket, tight black trousers and black calf-length high heel boots, along with a Jetpack Backpack. She’s wearing her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hello!” she says.

“B-but how did you know…?” I start.

“Frankie called me and told me that you could do with some back up. I guess he was right.”

“Yeah – he was. And for that I am thankful.”

Martha smiles in response. Just then, Eden appears.

“You!” the redhead screams. “I’ll teach you and your grandmother not to escape from my plants clutches!”

“Come on, Jenny – now that I’m here, let’s show this walking rose bush why she shouldn’t mess with the London ladies,” says Martha. “That’s if you’re OK to fight.”

I give her a smirk. “Don’t worry – I’m always ready. Let’s do it!”

Martha and I leap into action and attack Eden. However the redhead doctor deflects our punches and kicks with her arms. And now she’s twisting, pouncing, and performing somersaults and back handsprings to dodge our attacks.

“Why do bad guys have to be skilled gymnast?” Martha asks.

“I don’t know. But I’m getting tired of this combat parkour bullshit!” I say. I grab a vine and lasso Eden with it, then jump towards the redhead, and kick her in the belly, sending her flying into some bushes.

“Woo-hoo!” I cheer, punching the air.

“Well done, Jenny!” says Martha.

But our victory is short-lived when Eden clambers out of the bushes and frees herself from the vine.

“You bitch! You’ll pay for that!” she cries. She stretches her hand out, aiming her mini crossbow at me.

“Uh-oh!” I say. “Look out!”

Now it’s my turn to dodge the attack as Eden fires her arrows at me as well as Martha. We flip and high jump to get away from the arrows – but I can barely move quickly enough because of the poison administered to me.

“We need to find a way to stop Eden from firing at us!” I say. “I don’t think I can keep up for much longer!”

“Don’t worry – I’ve got this!” says Martha.

Eden is aiming her crossbow, getting ready to fire again. But Martha takes a running start, then slides across the floor and knocks the redhead off her feet. The arrow fires but hits an overhead lamp which breaks and falls to the floor, beginning a fire.

Martha and Eden get up at the same time with Eden looking very pissed. She aims her crossbow at Martha but my feisty future mother-in-law uses a vine, and uses it to grab Eden’s crossbow arm and expertly flips her. But the redhead reacts smoothly, rolling over to charge at Martha, picking her up like a sack of potatoes. I start to rush over to them.

“Hey! Put me down, you…” Before she can finish her sentence, the redhead throws Martha at me, knocking us both down.

Groaning in pain, Martha and I get onto our feet. We see Eden standing with a smug look on her face. I want nothing more than to bitch slap her into next week. I turn to Martha who seems to be thinking the same thing and we runs towards the redhead. But the floor gives away and I find myself falling down into a pit of spiked plants – but I manage to grab the edge and hang on. Though I don’t think I can hold on for long – not only is Martha holding on to my legs for dear life, but I’m dizzy from the poison. Also the fire spreading around the greenhouse is not helping – sweat and dizziness is not a good combination.

“Jenny – can you lift yourself up?” Martha asks.

I try and scramble up – and slip, holding on the ledge by my fingers.

“I’m sorry, Martha,” I say. “I can’t. I’m… I’m just too weak.”

Eden is approaching me, high heels clacking with each step. She looks triumphant as she smiles down at me, baring her perfect teeth.

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spy Girl,” she says, aiming her crossbow at me. “Enjoy extinction.”

“But we’re not going alone,” I hear Martha say. I look down to see what she’s talking about – and she reveals the rose in her one hand, while the other hand hangs tightly around my ankle.

Eden gasps. “No!” she screams. “You horrible old witch! How could you?!”

“The antidote – for the rose. What’s it going to be?” says Martha.

I look up at Eden. Tears are seeping down her face. I wish she would hurry up – my fingers are going numb and they’re starting to slip. I can’t… hold on… any longer…

My remaining fingers slip off and I find myself falling…

But by amazing grace, Eden seizes my arms by the elbows and pulls. And she keeps pulling until me and Martha is out of the pit. Eden immediately surrenders the antidote and, as soon as she has hold of the plant, forgets about everything else.

“My baby. My precious baby. My pretty baby,” she mumbles, huddling the rose protectively.

But we’re not out of the woods just yet. The fire is starting to get out of control.

“How do we get out of here?” Martha asks.

I look around, trying to find an exit but the flames have surrounded us. We’re trapped!

Suddenly the windows above us shatters and breaks and shards of glass rain down on us. Martha and I cover our heads – and Eden’s. I shake my head to remove the glass and debris. I look up and see our chance of escape.

“As a singer from the 1980s once said, ‘The only way is up’,” I say, pointing up at the shattered glass ceilings. “Grab a hold of Eden.”

I take hold the redhead by the elbow, Martha the other, and together we take off with our Jetpack Backpacks and we fly out of the greenhouse before the fire destroys the rest of the foliage.

As soon as we’re away from the fire, Martha and I make a landing by the North gate of the Heath, where the fire engines, ambulances and polices are. And with the fire and emergency services are several black cars. Men in black suits jump out of the cars and make their way over to us – along with Frank!

“Here you go, boys,” says Martha, handing Eden to them. The agents place the handcuffs on the redhead and take her away to their car.

“Are you OK?” Frank asks.

“Just a sec,” I say. I reach into Martha’s pocket and pull out the perfume bottle. I spritz the perfume on me and within seconds I feel my strength starting to come back. “I’m feeling better. Now let’s this antidote to Hawtrey.”

Frank, Martha and I jump into one of the black cars and the driver speeds off, taking the three of us to the hospital.

**(Frank’s POV)**

We manage to reach the hospital in record time and we hand the antidote to one of the doctor attending Hawtrey. While we wait, Mummy and Jenny get checked over for smoke inhalation. Anderson arrives and I tell him how we found an antidote for Hawtrey, and how the poison got into his system. Anderson told me how he knew there was something fishy about Chelsea and she never really trusted her, but he thanks me, Mummy and Jenny for saving his friend. An hour later the lawyer awakes from his coma to see Anderson standing over him while Jenny, Mummy and I watch from outside the room.

“W-where am I?” Hawtrey asks.

“You’re in the hospital,” Anderson replies.

“Why? What happened?”

“You passed out into your dessert. But you're going to be fine. Now, Nige – about your engagement to Chelsea Eden.”

Engagement?

“We’re good friends, right? I have to be honest with you, don’t I? Okay, then. I think Chels is wrong for you,” Anderson confesses to Hawtrey.

“Oh,” the lawyer says. “I really thought she was the one.”

“Hey man, there’s plenty more fish in the sea. And when you’re feeling better, we’ll attract that big fish and reel it in for you.”

Hawtrey gives Anderson a smile. “Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

“Come on, let’s leave them to it,” my mother whispers.

I take one last look at Hawtrey and Anderson, and I walk down the corridor with Mummy and Jenny.

“Thank God Hawtrey had a lucky escape,” says Jenny. “I mean to be engaged to a beautiful but deadly and slightly obsessive environmentalist like Chelsea Eden – thank goodness he was quick to see the light without having to actually find out what her agenda was.”

“Well, I’m glad that Hawtrey is going to be OK,” I say. I take hold of Jenny’s hand and kiss her knuckles. “And I’m glad that you’re OK, too.”

“Me too. And thank you for sending in someone to have my back. You were right on two accounts – for sending in the cavalry and for choosing your mother to be the cavalry. She was the awesome!”

“Why, thank you very much,” says Mummy. “I was surprised when Frankie called me and asked if I wanted to relive my glory days as a field agent, considering I haven’t done anything like this for over thirty years, but after today, I’ve forgotten how fun it was being a spy.”

“And I have to say, Martha, you totally rocked! Hey – maybe MI9 can open a special branch of spies for the elderly. We can call it something like MI Grey.”

Mummy laughs. “Oh Jenny, you’re such a card. But I must admit that’s not a bad idea. Maybe we can discuss more of MI Grey over afternoon tea. I know a place in Mayfair that serves a selection of delicious finger sandwiches, cakes, and pastries.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful. Doesn’t it, Frank?”

“Yes, it does,” I say with a smile. “Let’s go.”

The three of us leave the hospital and we hail for a taxi to take us to Mayfair.


	48. Project Primordial

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“OK, class. We’re here,” says Mr. Flatley when the coach pulls to a stop outside the Natural History Museum. The Year Elevens are here for a class trip as part of their upcoming GCSE exams. I decided to volunteer and come along with them to make sure they stay out of trouble.

Also it’s being years since I went to a museum.

Everyone in the coach collects their bags and steps off the coach, waiting for further instructions from Mr. Flatley.

“Now, everyone, I want you all on your best behaviour,” he says. “That means staying with your partner, no wandering off and most important of all, do not touch the displays.” Mr. Flatley turns to Scoop and gives him a steady intent look. “Do you understand, Timothy?”

Scoop rolls his eyes. He sighs. “Yes, sir,” he says.

“Miss Brownstone – make sure Timothy doesn’t touch anything,” says Mr. Flatley.

“You got it, Mr. F,” I say with a salute.

We make our way into the museum and check in at the School Reception in the Picnic Area located on the lower ground floor. There we meet our tour guide/science educator, Madison. She takes us on a short, lively tour of the Central Hall and uses the Museum statues, displays and architecture to introduce some of the key characters of the historical debate – Charles Darwin, Richard Owen, Thomas Henry Huxley and Bishop Samuel Wilberforce. Next the class is split into groups and challenged to present the views of a given character (Darwin, Owen, Huxley or Wilberforce). The groups are set a structured task to explore certain exhibits, looking for evidence to support their character’s argument, either for or against Darwin’s theory. The class tours the exhibits to hear the groups’ present evidence for their character’s argument, providing a re-enactment of the debate, as the groups argue the viewpoints in character. After the workshop, Madison takes us on a journey through the Darwin Centre’s stunning Cocoon – an interactive gallery that will inspire the students to learn more about the diversity of life.

By the time the tour is finished it’s just after 1:15 P.M. Time for lunch. Mr. Flatley and I take the class back to the indoor Picnic Area next to the School Reception on the lower ground floor and dig into our lunches.

An hour later Madison takes us to a lecture theatre where the Museum staff and scientific associates is hosting a seminar and a visiting specialist will present their latest research. While the majority of the class chorus a groan, Rose appears to be over the moon. First, the curator of the Museum gives a talk about evolution on Earth – about the solar system and how life on Earth has evolved over millions of years. Finding out when humans first appeared on the planet and learning about the causes of mass extinctions.

“Man, this is more boring than lessons,” Donovan whispers, with Davina and some of the class around him agreeing with him.

I lean forward. “Ssh,” I utter to Donovan, my finger to my lips. “Pay attention. Or at least pretend to be interested.” When I lean back I hear the sound of grunting. I turn to my right… and find Mr. Flatley fast asleep!

“Mmm, biscuits would be lovely, Mumsy,” he murmurs.

I shake my head and I turn my attentions back to the lecture.

An hour has past and by the time the talk about ecosystems is finished, I’m just about ready to fall asleep myself. The applause in the theatre wakes me up and I clap along. Mr. Flatley wakes up with a jolt and joins in.

“OK, everyone,” says Madison. “We’ve got one last speaker for you before you leave. He is a leading biologist and palaeontologist who will talk about genetic modification and cloning. Please give him a warm welcome – Doctor Clarence Rhodes!”

Dr. Rhodes enters the room. He’s a tall man and of average build with white hair and a white moustache. He’s wearing a white lab coat with a white shirt and red tie underneath, black trousers, brown loafers and black framed glasses.

“Hey, I’ve heard of him,” whispers Rose. “He recently discovered several thirty million dinosaur bones out of pools of oil in Argentina.”

“Good afternoon,” says Dr. Rhodes. “Genetic modification transplants genes for a desired characteristic into a different organism. Cloning makes an identical genetic copy of a parent plant or animal. And today, you are about to find out whether I have accomplished a miracle or squandered my investors’ money.”

Everyone in the theatre looks confused as an assistant places two lamps on the table, followed by a glass box. Inside the box is an egg. We watch as the egg starts to hatch and then cracks open. The entity inside the egg is a small snake.

Dr. Rhodes who is standing behind the table picks up the reptile. “The cloning project is a success,” he declares. “The result of gene splicing experiments using the DNA of the parent snake – it ‘gave birth’ to the clone after an embryo had been developed.”

“Whoa!” Everyone in the theatre is in awe – including me! We get on our feet to applaud.

“This is incredible!” Rose raves. “Imagine what he could do with food – third world countries will never go hungry again!”

“Better yet – imagine if he can clone humans,” I say. I can imagine it indeed – one to teach, the other to work for MI9 and a third to stay at home and goof off. How amazing will that be?

While we’re clapping, the assistant approaches the doctor. “I would like to offer my congratulations, Dr. Rhodes – and on behalf of SKUL,” he says.

“Huh?” I say.

“What was that?” says Rose.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” Oscar asks. His question is answered when the assistant takes off his lab coat and strips off his shirt and tie… revealing his SKUL uniform!

“Uh-oh!” says Carrie.

The agent grabs Dr. Rhodes and drops a smoke bomb that fills the room with a truly massive amount of a thick black fog.

That’s when the fire alarm starts to screech.

“OK, everyone…” Mr. Flatley coughs. “Make… Make your way to the exit, calmly… and in a… in a single file…” The class bursts into the corridor, our throats clogged with smoke, stampedes towards the stairs. Other people spill out from neighbouring galleries and exhibit rooms and I am carried along in a sea of adults and children, elbowing their way to freedom.

When I get outside, I search for Rose, Carrie or Oscar so we can go after the SKUL agent but I soon abandon the plan when I spot the kidnapper with Dr. Rhodes zigzagging their way through the huge crowd. I barge my way through.

“Excuse me!” I bump into everybody.

“Hey, girl, you blind or something? Watch where you’re going!” People hiss at me.

I step on someone’s toe.

“Sorry!”

“Ouch! Watch it!”

I knock into somebody’s elbow. I make him bump into someone else.

“I didn’t mean it!”

I keep bumping and jostling until I’m out of the mass, craning my neck looking around to see where the kidnapper and the doctor went. I see them at the end of Exhibition Road. I chase after them, running as fast as I can but there’s a van waiting for them. The SKUL agent bundles Dr. Rhodes into the van before getting in himself, then shutting the doors. The van flees away. I can’t let them get away. I look to see a motorbike propped on the side of the road – the owner present. I rush over to him and flash my MI9 badge at him.

“Sir, MI9, I need your bike,” I say.

“What?” the man says confused. But I take the guy’s keys, promptly get on the bike, start it up with a roar and burst away from the curb.

“ _I’msorryI’llbringitbackthankyou!_ ” I say hastily as I bomb after the van at the speed of light.

The van speeds down the road, past the Imperial College and the Royal Albert Hall and enters Kensington Gardens. I gun the motorcycle forward, still giving chase. People are ducking and jumping out of the way as I continue to pursue the van, getting closer and closer. Suddenly the vehicle goes off-road. I swerve left, shooting over the path and on to the grass, trying my best not to collide with the trees or anybody else.

A helicopter hovers above. It lands not far from Kensington Palace. The van comes to a stop and the driver, kidnapper and Dr. Rhodes climb out and head for the aircraft. SKUL are planning an aerial getaway! I skid the motorbike to a stop, climb off the seat and sprint after them. I reach into my pocket and take out a tracker. I dive under the helicopter and plant the bug on the underbelly of the aircraft. I hear the door sliding shut and a few seconds later, the helicopter rises back into the air and spins away.

I lie where I am, watching it, until it disappears in the dying light.

I gingerly climb onto my feet and after letting out a sigh of exhaustion I return to the motorbike, get back on it and head back to the Natural History Museum.

After returning the bike to the owner I jog back to the Museum where the police have turned up, along with the fire service – not that there was a fire. I spot the coach parked at the gates and head over to it. Mr. Flatley is there with the class doing a head count.

“Hey, Mr. F,” I say, acting as casual as I can be.

“Oh, Miss Brownstone, there you are,” he says. “Where were you?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I got lost in the crowd trying to look for you. It’s like Oxford Street on a Saturday.”

“Well, you’re here now – and so is the class. Let’s get them back to St Hope’s. All right, everyone – back on the coach.”

The class climb onto the coach, followed by me and Mr. Flatley. I dump myself on a seat and let out a sigh.

“So where were you really?” Carrie asks from behind.

“Going after SKUL,” I whisper. “I planted a tracking device on their helicopter before they got away. We can find out where they’ve taken Dr. Rhodes when we get back to school.”

As soon as the last person is in their seat, the driver shuts the door, starts up the coach and pulls away from the curb, taking us back to St Hope’s.

xxoOoxx

When we arrive back at St Hope’s, Rose, Carrie, Oscar and I head into school and search for Frank. We find him in the assembly hall and we drag him down to HQ, explaining what had happened at the Museum – and I’m not talking about the exhibitions.

“…so after the kidnappers bundled Dr. Rhodes in the helicopter, I placed a tracking device so we can find out where they’re going,” I finish telling Frank.

“Good work, Jen. I’ll get right on it,” he says, and starts typing away.

“But what I don’t get is why SKUL want Dr. Rhodes,” says Carrie.

“Dr. Rhodes has just perfected cloning with that garden snake,” says Oscar.

“But what do they intend to clone?”

Rose lets out a gasp after a short think. “The dinosaur bones! The kidnapper must have disguised himself as a worker and stole some of the bones from the excavation site.”

“So what you’re saying is that SKUL kidnapped a biologist to have him recreate the dinosaurs using cloning so they can take over the world,” I say. When Rose nods, I let out a scoff. “That has to be the stupidest idea I have ever heard.”

“You’ve got to remember that SKUL has an irritating habit of doing the impossible,” Oscar tells me. “I mean the Grandmaster was Prime Minister for a brief time.”

“Yeah, but dinosaurs? They will need at least thirty years to grow up and become dangerous, which is just in time for my retirement,” I counter.

“Don’t be too sure about that,” says Rose, now sitting at the computers. “I’ve got the lowdown on Dr. Rhodes and as well as perfecting cloning, he has also developed a rapid growth serum.”

“Meaning the dinosaurs ageing process can occur anytime from a matter of seconds to a matter of weeks,” says Carrie.

“Whoa!” I’m impressed yet worried at the same time. “Instant monster.”

“I’ve got it!” says Frank. “The helicopter was taken to a private airfield called Stapleford Aerodrome located in the Epping Forest district of Essex, near the village of Abridge.”

“Why would SKUL go there?” I say. “Unless…”

“They’re planning on doing the cloning experiment somewhere else,” Frank concludes.

“The question is, where?” says Oscar.

The computer pings, letting us know that we’ve got e-mail. Rose opens up the message – and gasps.

“It’s from the mole,” she says. “It says that SKUL has taken Dr. Rhodes to an island somewhere in the South Pacific.”

“Did they say where?” Carrie asks.

“Unfortunately the island is not on the map.”

Frank starts to type on the keyboard and a map of the entire planet is displayed on the computer screen, with a circle outlining the South Pacific.

“So the island could be the neighbouring islands near or around New Zealand, Australia, Papua New Guinea or the Pacific Islands,” says Oscar.

“So the plan is to hire a mode of transport to take us to where the island is, stop SKUL and save Dr. Rhodes,” says Carrie.

“Hmm. But not today,” I say.

“Huh?” the young spies say.

“We need to be fully prepared for this mission. We can’t just arrive on the island, all guns blazing – we need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” I explain.

“Jen’s right,” says Frank. “Besides, your parents are expecting you home right about now so you can’t leave straight away. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“By that time, SKUL will have enough dinosaurs to open Jurassic Park!” says Carrie.

“Not if we go immediately and we’re not fully equipped with gadgets and weapons to defend ourselves,” says Oscar.

“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow morning we’ll fly out to search for the island,” I say.

“What about school?” Rose asks.

“You leave that to me,” says Frank. “Right now we’ve got homes to go to, so rest up – we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

The five of us exit HQ via lift. When we come out of the caretaker’s cupboard, Rose, Carrie and Oscar say their goodnight’s and leave together while I wait for Frank to finish up. A short while later he’s done and after locking up the school, we clamber into Frank’s car and he takes us home so we can get ready for tomorrow.

**(Frank’s POV)**

I feel like death waking up at quarter to six the following morning but a shower wakes me up. I go down to the kitchen to fix myself up some breakfast – marmalade sandwich and a mug of tea as we’ve got a busy day ahead. Jenny comes down after her shower and has a slice of jam toast and a glass of orange juice. We get dressed into our spy outfits after breakfast. At quarter past six a car honks outside – our ride is here. Jenny and I head down the stairs and out the door, shivering in the cold morning air. We enter the black seven-seat car, the driver starts it up and we drive off to collect the team.

Before we went to bed last night, I made some calls to arrange transport for the team to travel to the hidden SKUL island, while Jenny called up Zeke for him to lay some gadgets for her, Rose, Carrie and Oscar.

We pick up rest of the team and head to an MI9 airfield in Bromley, Kent. I look to the trio who have fallen asleep during the journey. I can’t blame them – they look wrecked when they entered the car. I just hope they won’t be like this when the dinosaurs chase after them.

The team don’t wake up until the car slows down at the gates of the airfield nearly an hour later where there is a security cabin and an electronic barrier. A guard in a black uniform waves us through. The barrier lifts automatically. And then we are following a long, straight road over a stretch of land. The airfield consists of three runways: two large parallel runways that run east to west and a smaller runway that runs northeast to southwest. Two hangars are lined side by side in the airfield. The first is only large enough to accommodate one plane. The other hangar is used to store vehicles. Additional structures include a helipad, and a small control tower.

The car pulls up at the control tower and I get out. The team and Jenny spring into action and follow me up the stairs into the small air control room where Zeke is waiting for us.

“Hey, guys. God, isn’t it awful getting up this early,” he mumbles.

“You’re telling me,” says Oscar.

“Here – get that down you.” He nods to tray of disposable paper coffee cups with plastic lids. The five of us each take a cup.

“Mm. Thanks for the coffee, Zeke,” says Rose after taking a sip. Oscar, Carrie and Jenny also thank him.

“And thanks again for meeting us here,” I say.

“No problem. Let’s get down to business,” he says. He uses his swivel chair to glide over to a large table that has a tray full of equipment. “First up, we’ve got the Mini Bombs.” Zeke nods to the small, round, metallic bombs. Then he hands up a black sleeveless Puffa jacket. “Next we have the Inflatable Protective Gilet, that when deployed encloses you inside a ball, allowing you to survive an extreme impact. And finally we have this” – Zeke hands up a belt – “the Grappling Belt. It contains a rappelling cord and a piton-shooting buckle. When fired, it shoots a grapple attached to high-tensile-strength wire that can attach to any surface to either reel you in or to swing from one area to another.”

“Once again, Zeke, you continue to amaze us,” says Jenny, putting on the belt and gilet, and putting the Mini Bombs in her utility belt. Rose, Carrie and Oscar also put on the belt and gilet.

“Sometimes I just love being a spy,” says Carrie. “We get such amazing toys.”

“Then you’re gonna love this.” On the side of the table there’s a briefcase. Zeke takes it and places it on his lap, opening it up.

“Whoa,” we murmur. Inside the briefcase are four high-tech sidearms.

“I give you the Van Buren Laser Pistol,” says Zeke. “They emit a concentrated beam of coherent light, with sufficient wattage to do some considerable damage – especially if you’re up against cloned dinosaurs.”

“Excellent,” says Jenny. She takes the gun and tucks it in her thigh holster. The others do the same. “Now that we’ve got gadgets, we can get a move on.”

“And that’s where I come in,” I say. “Follow me.”

Jenny, Zeke, the team and I leave the control tower and head for the hangar. When we arrive I reach into my pocket, take out a small remote control and press a button on it. The single panel door opens automatically, tilting up and backing across the hangar ceiling. We enter the garage and go over to the switch near the door and turn the lights on, revealing a unique jet-powered, hybrid-wing aircraft.

“This is the Aviancore,” I say. “This technologically advanced jet is equipped with VTOL capability and turbojet engines. It is able to reach high speeds through two powerful jet engines located at the rear of the ship. It possesses two large, angle-adjustable rotors, one housed in each wing, which grants the aircraft its vertical take-off and landing capabilities. The Aviancore also has adjustable wing tips that can be angled down to intensify the lift of the wing rotors and modify the movement of the ship. This gives the jet unprecedented manoeuvrability as it can make full stops mid-air, hover in place, and make incredibly tight turns compared to the conventional aircraft.”

“Amazing.” Everyone looks mightily impressed by the jet – mostly Zeke, who is practically drooling over it.

“OK, guys,” says Jenny, clapping her hands. “Less ogling, more focusing. We’ve got a mission, remember. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“I call shotgun!” Carrie exclaims, running to the Aviancore. Oscar and Rose follow after her. Jenny is about to go but I catch her hand.

“Hey. Be careful out there, OK?” I tell her. “Look after the team and, um… don’t get killed, OK?”

“OK,” Jenny says, squeezing my hand. Then she gives me a quick peck on the cheek and heads for the jet. She climbs up the boarding ladder and into the cockpit. Zeke moves the ladder out of the way, and he and I exit the hangar as the jet starts to wheel out of the garage and begins taxiing up to the start of the runway.

After a few minutes the Aviancore has completed its pre-flight tests. It’s facing down the runway. Its rotors are at full speed.

The jet begins to move down the runway. Slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. A moment later the jet leaves the ground, the wheels lifting off, and takes off in the air. I watch as the Aviancore sails through the lighten sky, getting smaller and smaller, until I can no longer see it.

I’m still staring at the sky, watching as the sun come up, when I feel a pat on my shoulder. I turn to see Zeke with his hand still there.

“Don’t worry, Frank, they’ll be all right,” says Zeke. “Jenny and the team can handle themselves and they’ll look out for each other.”

“Mmm,” I nod. “We better get inside – it’s freezing out here.”

Nodding in agreement, Zeke and I head back to the control tower.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

This has to be the coolest jet in the world! Sleek and beautifully shaped on aesthetic side, high-tech and agile on the technical side, the Aviancore owns everything else in the skies with ease. It’s also supersonic – we’ve already reach the South Pacific in less than four hours, travelling at the top speed of more than three thousand miles per hour. How awesome is that?

“OK, guys, we’re here,” I tell Rose, Oscar and Carrie. “Keep your eyes peeled on anything that looks out of the ordinary.”

“I think I may have found it,” says Oscar. “The island looks very weird-looking – at least to me. I’ll use my Spy-Pod to get the coordinates.”

Oscar gives us the following coordinates: latitude: ten degrees, twenty-four minutes and fifty seconds North; longitude: ninety-four degrees, seven minutes and three seconds West. Carrie types in the coordinates and on the computer screen is a satellite imagery of, like Oscar described, a weird-looking island. The island is one hundred and twenty miles off the west coast of New Zealand. It is eight miles long and three miles wide at its widest point with a total of twenty-two square miles. The island appears like an inverted teardrop; bulging in the north, thinning in the south. A large lake stretches through the middle of the island, a jungle river runs for miles along the interior of the island and volcanic fumes from the south are present.

“Looks like we’ve found our mystery island,” I say. “OK, I’m gonna land the Aviancore on the southern part of the island, by the beach. Then we’ll have to walk through the jungle to find…”

“Incoming!” Rose yells.

I look up to see a dodge a set of missiles firing towards us!

“ _Shit!_ ” I scream. I perform a swerve, narrowly avoiding the missiles in the nick of time causing them to hit each other and explode. “What the fuck, man! Where did they come from?!” I exclaim.

“SKUL must know that we’re here,” says Oscar.

“Here they come again!” Carrie cries.

Another swarm of projectiles is flying right at us.

“Everybody hold on!” I say. I dodge the missiles again. Another volley of missiles comes and through an extreme display of evasive manoeuvres I swerve from side to side, taking sharp turns, and put the Aviancore through aerial acrobatics that would logically cause massive G-forces. But somehow we manage to escape without the slightest scratch.

“Is everyone OK?” I ask.

The team groan in response. “I feel sick,” says Rose.

“Sorry. But at least we’re safe.”

“I wouldn’t say that Jen. Look!” Oscar points.

I feel the blood drain from my face when a massive salvo of missiles is heading towards us.

“Oh my God,” Rose moans.

“There’s no way I can dodge them all,” I say.

“What are we going to do?” Oscar asks.

“It’s time to put Plan E into action,” says Carrie.

“Plan E?!” Rose, Oscar and I say at once.

“What the hell is Plan E?” I ask.

“This!” Carrie hits a red button and the entire canopy above us opens, and our seats – along with the four of us – are launched through the opening.

“ _EEYAANANAH!_ ” we all scream as we shoot skywards. There’s an explosion below us as the missiles hit the Aviancore, destroying it in a ball of flame. Once we’re clear of the now-destroyed aircraft, the ejection seat deploys a parachute.

I’m surprised by my sense of calm. I’m sitting on a jet seat in the air underneath a comforting canopy of white silk. I feel as if I’m not moving at all. Now that the team and I have ejected from the jet, the islands seem even more distant and unreal. It’s just us, the sky and the South Pacific. I’m almost enjoying myself.

But Rose snaps me out of it when she tells us to guide our parachutes to the island.

I pull at the parachute, guiding myself towards the island. How small it looks compared to the other islands, there is continual range of highlands along the western coast of the island. Velvet green cliffs and cascading waterfalls plummet into deep, narrow valleys. From these mountains, one or more rivers stream to the eastern part of the island. The northern part of the island is very mountainous – and also very volcanic. Also in the northern part of the island, in the middle of a rocky terrain, is a large seven-storey fortified tower – SKUL’s hideout.

Somehow I manage to manoeuvre myself over the island, falling slowly to the ground. All is well: soon I’ll be safe and sound on the ground.

…Until a pesky breeze pushes me over towards a cluster of trees. And instead of landing on my feet, my parachute snags in the branches and I become stuck, dangling helplessly in the air.

Luckily the fall isn’t particularly high, so I unbuckle myself from my seat and jump, landing on the ground in a crouching position, feet wide apart and supporting my weight with one hand on the floor while the other hand is outstretched away from my body, pointed diagonally upwards.

The perfect landing.

I get onto my feet, activate the torch on my watch-communicator and look around for the team.

“Rose! Carrie! Oscar! Where are you?” I call. “Guys?”

“Team? Can you hear me?” I call again.

Then I hear Carrie’s faint cry. “We’re over here!” she calls.

“Where?” I cry.

The rustling in the bushes startles me and emerging from it is the team.

“We’re right here,” says Carrie.

“Guys – you’re OK,” I say, relieved.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” says Oscar. “Which is more than I can say for the Aviancore.”

“Mmm. We better call for back-up.” I use my watch-communicator to make the call, but all I’m getting is static. “It seems that my communicator isn’t giving outgoing calls.”

The team try their pencil communicators and it seems the result is the same.

“I can’t get in touch with Frank or Zeke,” says Rose. “SKUL must have a jamming signal.”

“So we can’t get in touch them to call an airstrike and rescue party,” I say. I sigh. “It looks like we’ll have to attack SKUL’s fortress by ourselves.”

Before anyone can say or do anything, we hear something that sounds like a lawnmower.

“Hide!” I tell the team.

We immediately run for cover in some bushes, and I quickly turn off the torch as three SKUL agents on quad bikes arrive. We remain hidden and gaze on the enfolding scene as the henchmen check the surrounding area.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here,” one of the agents says. “And even if they are here, the dinosaurs will take care of them when they’re released. Let’s go.”

We watch as the SKUL agents leave. The team and I come out of our hiding place. Rose goes over to where the quad bikes were and examine the tracks.

“We can find SKUL’s base by following the tracks,” she says.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” I say. “And stay alert – other than cloned dinosaurs who knows what else is out here.”

The team and I start our journey through the rainforest to find the hideout, using the torch and the quad bike tracks as our guides.

xxoOoxx

I feel like we’ve being walking through the rainforest forever, but I know it’s only been half an hour. As we march deep into the island, I realize that this is no ordinary rainforest. It is a vast old-growth rainforest where the trees reach into the heavens. Their canopies cover the sky, leaving only shafts of moonlight steaming between the branches. Even the normally tiny mushrooms are huge and imposing – and probably not a good idea to eat, no matter what the size. As well as creepy, the island is teeming with possums, rats, snakes, leeches, and cicadas. It kinda makes me question how SKUL came across this place.

We continue to march through the rainforest for another hour when we finally find the SKUL base.

“And there it is,” I say.

“The question is, how are we gonna get in?” says Oscar.

I’m about to suggest an answer when a loud growl interrupts me.

“Sorry. That was my stomach,” Carrie says sheepishly.

“If it isn’t the luck of the Irish,” states Rose, causing Carrie’s face to flush red.

Suddenly we hear an even louder growl. Rose, Oscar and I turn to Carrie.

“That wasn’t me,” she says.

“Well it certainly wasn’t us,” says Oscar. “So who was it?”

We hear the growls again. The noise, of course, is coming from the base. Dr. Rhodes has successfully created the dinosaurs.

“Let’s just pretend it’s the wind,” I half-wish. “Let’s go.”

The team and I start to approach the base.

“I hope that Dr. Rhodes isn’t the dinosaurs’ first dinner,” says Oscar.

“If anything the doctor would only be an appetizer,” Rose points out.

“Oh, can you guys please stop talking about food?” Carrie pleads, grabbing her stomach.

The team and I continue to hike through the rainforest until we’re out in the open. We hurry up to the big metal doors at the bottom of the SKUL base when they swing open…

And we jump out of our skins when a group of dinosaurs walk out!

“Holy sh…!” Oscar screams.

“Quick, team – let’s use our Van Buren Laser Pistols on these overgrown lizards!” I command.

The four of us whip out our pistols and we take a shot at the dinosaurs, but our laser shots bounce off the creatures.

“It’s not working!” Rose cries.

“Keep shooting!” I tell her. But soon I’m finding myself running for cover as a tree is smashed down by an angry _Triceratops_. “Wowsers!”

“I really don’t think these laser pistols are doing anything other than making the dinosaurs even angrier,” says Carrie.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I reply. “Besides, I thought dinosaurs were supposed to be stupid.”

“I guess they just don’t make them like they used to. Hey – look!” Carrie points up at the trees… and spots a camera. “The Grandmaster is watching us.”

“Yeah? Well, he can watch _this_!” I pick the camera off with a shot from my pistol. I call to Oscar and Rose. “Time to retreat!”

The four of us run through the rainforest, with the dinosaurs chasing after us. I hear the sound of engines – SKUL must be pursuing us on their quad bikes. We continue to stumble through the jungle when I spot a cave.

“This way!” I tell the team. I lead them into the cave. The dinosaurs try to enter but the cave mouth is too small for them to fit their heads in.

“OK…” I pant. “OK, I think… I think we’re safe now…”

At that moment a _Velociraptor_ enters the cave and attacks Oscar.

“Oscar!” The girls and I scream. He’s trying his best to defend himself from the creature, but it won’t be long until the raptor rips his face off. The girls and I take out our laser pistols and shoot at the dinosaur, but it has no effect on the creature. So I do the next best thing and somersault over the raptor, grabbing its tail and swing its head into one side of the cave wall, then the other, and then toss the raptor at the dinosaurs at the opening. The dinosaur shakes its head and charges towards me, but I shoot it directly in the mouth with the laser pistol, effectively killing it.

“Whoa,” Carrie murmurs. “That was awesome!”

“Thanks,” I reply.

Rose kneels beside Oscar. “Oscar. Are you hurt?”

“No, I… I’m fine. I think,” he responds. “Thanks, Jen.”

“No problem. But we’re not in the clear yet. We still need to find a where to get away from here – and the dinosaurs.”

“If only we had something to distract them,” says Rose. “I really did wish we brought food with us.”

“Er, actually, guys…” Oscar looks sheepish as he digs into his trouser pockets and brings out packaged snack foods.

“You had food on you?” Carrie gasps. “Oscar! How could you?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve even forgotten that I had them on me.”

“It kinda explains why the raptor attacked you,” I say. “It was after the food.”

“And now we have something to distract the dinosaurs,” says Rose. She takes the snacks from Oscar, stands close to the opening of the cave and throws the food toward the SKUL agents.

The rest of us watch as one of the SKUL agents picks up the snack food with a confused look on his face. “That’s strange. Where did this come from?” he comments.

It is then that he looks up and sees all of the dinosaurs bearing down on him.

“EYAAAAH!” the agents scream as the reptiles charge after them. The SKUL agents retreat through the rainforest as the dinosaurs pursue them, destroying the quad bikes and leaving behind a path of destruction.

The team and I leave the cave, being cautious in case we’re jumped on by a dinosaur or a SKUL agent.

“I think we’re safe – for now,” I say. I see something that catches my eye. I rush over to the flattened quad bike and find some dynamite in the debris. “This should come in real handy,” I say, picking up the explosives. I turn to the team. “I think it’s time to prepare an MI9 welcome for SKUL. Who’s ready?”

“We are!” they chorus.

“Let’s do it!” says Carrie.

The four of us set off through the jungle, using the destructive path that the dinosaurs left for us to lead us back to the SKUL base. The team and I approach the doors once again. I take out the Mini Bombs and attach them along the bottom of the door. I take out the dynamite and place them on the corner of the doors. Then I light up the long wick of the explosives.

“OK, team, let’s go rescue Dr. Rhodes,” I say. We open up our buckles from our Grappling Belt and fire it at the top of the tower. After a couple of tugs to make sure the hooks are securely attached to the building, the team and I begin to scale the tower.

We climb up and up and up. The tower seems as tall as a church steeple, but I edge upwards. I can tell that the others are getting tired because I can hear them panting.

“Come on, guys. We’re nearly there,” I urge. “You can’t give up now.”

We keep on climbing… until we find ourselves under the ledge of a large window. The team and I take a peek and see that it’s a command centre. And in the room is Dr. Rhodes being manhandled by SKUL agents. And along with them is the Grandmaster – holding his rabbit companion, General Flopsy. It looks like the Grandmaster is about to dispose Dr. Rhodes.

Not on MI9’s watch.

“OK, guys, on my count, bounce off the wall and swing through the window,” I tell the team. “Ready? One, two, three!”

The four of us bounce off the wall and burst into the command room by breaking through the window, with me and Oscar kicking the Grandmaster to the ground and knocking General Flopsy out of his hands.

“Surprise!” I say.

“MI9!” the Grandmaster gasps. He turns to his agents. “Don’t just stand there, you fools! Get them!”

The SKUL agents charge towards us. The team and I spring into action and attack the horde of mooks. We shower them with kicks and punches, but there’s just too many of them.

“Grab the Grandmaster’s command disk!” Dr. Rhodes yells. “You can control the dinosaurs with it! It’s in his dressing gown!”

“Oh, for the love of Pete, it’s not a dressing gown, it’s a…” But the Grandmaster gets interrupted when Oscar tackles him to the ground, wrestling him to get the command disk.

“Gimme!” Oscar yells, but the Grandmaster shows no sign of giving up the disk.

Suddenly, a SKUL agent grabs Oscar by the scruff of his neck, pulls him off the Grandmaster and punches him hard across the face.

“Oscar!” I call, and start to run over to him, but another SKUL agent points his gun at me. I look around and see that we’re surrounded.

The Grandmaster scoops General Flopsy into his arms and marches over to Oscar. He takes a long, hard look at him. “You really are the spitting image of your mother, aren’t you, Oscar?” says the Grandmaster.

“Don’t you dare ever compare to her! I’m nothing like her!” Oscar shouts.

“Hm, I suppose not. You don’t exactly have her brains, do you?” The Grandmaster reaches into his pocket inside his dressing gown and brings out a circular device. “What would you have told the dinosaurs if you had the control disk, hmm? Would you have told them to smash through the base? Because I have news for you, boy – the fortress is impregnable.”

“That’s because we don’t plan on bringing the dinosaurs to the fortress. We planned on bringing the fortress to the dinosaurs,” Oscar explains.

Suddenly, there’s a loud explosion. The dynamite and the Mini Bombs have rocked the foundation of the base. The quake causes the Grandmaster to drop the control disk. I grab my captor’s gun and knock him out by hitting him with the butt of the pistol. I run over to the disk and grab it.

“Listen up, dino-dudes, I order you to wreak havoc on the base!” I tell the reptiles over the disk.

Just then, a fist shoots out. I feel such a whack on my cheek that I’m lifted right off my feet. I end up flat on my back on the ground. I trip the SKUL agent with a leg scissor takedown, quickly get back on my feet and stomp on the agent’s face, knocking him and his teeth out. But then another SKUL agent tackles me to the ground, knocking the disk out of my hand. I throw the agent over my head and scramble onto my feet to chase after the rolling disk, but Dr. Rhodes reaches it before me and picks up the disk.

“Dr. Rhodes, tell the dinosaurs that food is available in the base!” Rose instructs.

The doctor does what he’s told. Suddenly the Grandmaster tackles Dr. Rhodes and the disk flies out of the window and out of the reach of everyone.

“ _NO-O-O-O-O-O!_ ” the Grandmaster screams.

“Oh, no! Without the control disk, no-one can control the dinosaurs!” Dr. Rhodes cries.

Everyone in the control room stands horrified. We’re in really big trouble.

The room starts to shake. The dinosaurs have entered the base, and they’re going to destroy everything in sight. Suddenly, the doors to the command room are smashed down by an angry _T. rex_. As more of the reptiles enter the room, I see the Grandmaster strapping a jetpack on his back.

“Farewell, MI9! It’s been fun – not!” the Grandmaster taunts, and he and General Flopsy take off out the window and fly away.

The Grandmaster might have got away, but unfortunately the SKUL agents are not so lucky. Some of them are getting attacked and killed by the dinosaurs, while the remaining agents run for their lives and jump out the window to their deaths to escape the reptiles storming the command room.

“What are we going to do?” says Dr. Rhodes. “If we stay, we’ll get devoured! If we go out the window, we’ll fall to our deaths!”

Rose, Carrie, Oscar and I glance at each other and nod. “We’ll take option two!” I say.

“What?! But…!” Before Dr. Rhodes can argue, I grab his wrist, and me, him and the rest of the team jump out of the window, escaping the sharp jaws of the _T. rex_.

“ _GAAAAH!_ ” Dr. Rhodes screams as we fall. I wrap my legs around the doctor’s waist and activate my Inflatable Protective Gilet by pulling the cord on the jacket. A giant ball surrounds me and Dr. Rhodes, and we both feel the impact of the ball hitting ground once… twice… three times. The ball rolls for a bit and then stops completely.

For a moment the doctor and I are too stunned to say anything. I tug the cord on the jacket and the ball deflates and turns back into a normal gilet.

“Well, that was… fun,” I say, climbing to my feet.

“You can say that again!” I hear Carrie say. I turn and see her, Rose and Oscar coming up to me and the doctor.

“So everyone’s OK?” I ask.

The team nod. “No broken bones,” says Oscar.

The sound of roaring startles us. We all look to the SKUL base and see the dinosaurs destroying the tower – with the _T. rex_ roaring triumphantly.

“I wonder what will happen with the dinosaurs,” says Rose.

“Maybe my investors would probably like to open a museum. Or maybe a theme park…” Dr. Rhodes suggests.

“Oh, no, they won’t,” I interrupt. “Your investors can go and suck eggs because we’re leaving and you can stay. Any questions?” I ask the doctor menacingly.

He shakes his head, clearly frightened to use his mouth to speak.

“I have a question,” says Carrie. “How are we getting out of here?”

“Ah.” I bow my head, realizing that we’re stuck on this island and we’re gonna get devoured by these giant reptiles.

“So we’re stuck here?” says Oscar.

“It would appear so,” says Rose. “And with no way of getting in touch with MI9, who knows how long we’ll be here.”

But just when we thought we had to build a treehouse, swing from vines and survive on berries and leaves, a large shadow appears out of nowhere, over us. We look up and see an aircraft hover above our heads.

“Look – we’re saved!” I exclaim.

The underbelly of the aircraft opens and sucks me, the team and Dr. Rhodes into the aircraft. “Ouch!” we cry when we hit the ceiling of the plane. Then when the door below us closes, we come crashing down on top of each other on the ground. “Ooh!” we moan.

“Nice of you all to drop in.”

I look up, startled to see Frank staring down at us, smiling.

“Frank,” I say, getting up gingerly and waggling my arms and legs to make sure they’re not broken. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think that the Aviancore was the only jet that MI9 owned, did you? Besides, it looked like you needed some help after your jet disappeared from radar.”

Carrie sits up. “But you can’t fly a jet,” she says. “So who bought you here?”

“PAM did,” says a voice, and we see Zeke sitting at the controls with an attractive woman in a dark blue air stewardess outfit, piloting the aircraft. “Guys, meet PAM – the Pilot Android Mechanism.”

The team and I wave at PAM. The android turns to us, nods and returns to flying the jet.

“So how did you find us?” Rose asks.

“We tracked your coordinates before your jet vanished from radar,” Zeke explains. “I had to call MI9 to send us another jet because Mr. Worrywart here went into hysterical mode.”

“I did not!” Frank protests.

“He did,” mouths Zeke. Then he says out loud, “Anyway, I called PAM over as Frank and I have never flown an aircraft, so she came in pretty handy. We flew out here to track your coordinates, but it looked like we didn’t need to as we saw a fist of black smoke billowing from an island. So here we are.”

“Well, we’re thankful for the rescue,” I say. The team murmur in agreement.

“So what’s going to happen to the island?” Oscar asks.

“MI9 have commandeered it,” says Frank. “We’ve also acquired Dr. Rhodes research on cloning and the dinosaur bones that he found.”

“You what?” the doctor cries. “You can’t do that! That’s my life’s work!”

“I’m sorry, doctor. But you’ve got to understand that after what has happened we can’t let SKUL or anyone else use the data for their villainous schemes.

“Frank’s right – we have to think about the safety of the people,” I say. “Also, you can’t tell anyone about this – your investors, the public, no-one. If you do, there will be consequences. Is that understood? Dr. Rhodes?”

The doctor sadly nods. “I understand.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that sorted, we can go home.” I let out a yawn. “This mission has left me exhausted.”

“Not to mention starving,” Carrie adds. “I could eat a horse.”

“Luckily you don’t need to,” says Frank. Next to him is a duffel bag. He crouches down and opens it… revealing various assortment of snacks and drinks. “Since none of you had any breakfast, I thought it’ll be a good idea to bring some food.”

Carrie gasps in delight. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cries, jumping and clapping her hands. Then she dives into the bag to pick out a snack.

Rose, Oscar and I shake our heads in amusement, but soon we help ourselves to the grub while PAM sails the Aviancore through the skies to take us home.


	49. Nickerson Technological and Engineering Centre

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The Year Elevens and I are putting up the finishing touches for the upcoming Valentine’s Day dance that’s happening tomorrow. Now normally when Valentine’s Day comes around, I would associate it with a holiday that is perceived to exist primarily for commercial purposes, rather than to commemorate a traditionally or historically significant event. Not to mention that I was single and not in a romantic relationship. But since I am now in a romantic relationship and engaged to the most amazing man in the world, I plan to celebrate Valentine’s Day as a holiday that’s about love and life.

Anyway, the Year Elevens and I have spent the week decorating the assembly hall into a _lovely_ display. We’ve set the scene for a heartfelt Valentine’s Day with pretty pink and rosy red heart garlands, foil spray centrepieces, confetti, cute heart cutouts, and banners. The food and drinks will arrive on the day of the dance.

“I hope you guys have your costumes ready for the dance tomorrow,” I tell Oscar, Rose and Carrie who is helping me put up the banners. I forgot to mention that the dance is a fancy dress event.

Oscar and Rose nod in response.

“My costume is coming sometime today,” says Carrie. “I’m gonna shop for accessories after school. This dance is going to be dynamite. And ‘Love Through the Ages’ is such a sweet valentine’s theme.”

“Do you know who you’re asking to the dance?” I ask.

“There are a few spare boys here and there that I can ask. What about you, Oscar? Who are you taking?”

“I’m not really taking anyone to be honest. I just want to enjoy myself and have a good time,” he says.

“But there must be someone,” I say. “What about Avril? She’s been pining after you for months. Why don’t you take her? You two can go together as friends.”

“Well… I suppose.” Oscar rubs the back of his neck, thinking whether or not to ask her.

“What about you, Rose? Have you got someone to ask?”

“I can think of a certain someone,” Carrie says teasingly. “A certain tall, dark and brainy someone who works as an inventor for the research and development division of MI9.”

“Carrie,” Rose says, giving her a nudge and blushing furiously.

“Now, now, girls,” says Oscar, coming between them. “Carrie, stop teasing Rose about Zeke. You know how much she hates it.”

“Thanks, Oscar. Besides, it’s not like I can ask Zeke to the dance. Mrs King won’t allow it. The person has to be someone from the school.”

“Don’t worry, Rose. I’m sure there’s someone who will love to escort you to the dance,” I tell her. She smiles gratefully in response.

I’m about to reach for another banner when I feel my watch-communicator vibrating and I hear the beeping from the team’s pencil communicators.

“It’s mission time,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

I slide down the ladder and follow the team out of the assembly hall and start heading for the caretaker’s cupboard. But as we round a corner, Oscar accidently bumps into someone.

“Oh! Sorry,” he says. But his eyes widen when he see who he has bumped into. Ms. Holland, the science teacher. The most feared teacher in the entire school, on a par with Aunt Hermione. She is incredibly strict – and it’s mostly with the male population in the school and there’s a reason for that. About a year before I came to St Hope’s, her marriage ended in a bitter and messy divorce when her husband of thirty-three years left her for some, and I quote, ‘young, peroxide blonde-haired, Oompa-Loompa tart from Essex’. Now she raves about how her husband left her, or about men in general who are selfish, untrustworthy and would abandon their female companions after the best years of their lives.

This behaviour and hatred of men passed on to her teaching, where she would give lower grades to male students, and distort even basic school science knowledge by including negative references to the male sex. This sort of gender discrimination would have gotten her fired from her job, but since Mr. Flatley is shit-scared of her, the Man Hater, as I call her, is here to stay.

Ms. Holland is middle-aged, but has aged quite well. She has very sharp facial features including a notably large hooked nose with pronounced creases on both sides of it. She has grey hair (with a small light grey streak in the middle) tied in a prim and proper bun. Her ensemble includes tasteful houndstooth pencil skirt, a white blouse, and black waistcoat. A red bow tie, black sheer tights, black Mary Jane shoes and half-moon spectacles complete the ensemble. Despite her misandry damaging her ability to teach, Ms. Holland seems to have some sense of pride in her work.

“You stupid boy! Didn’t anyone tell you not to run in the corridors,” the teacher snaps, her green eyes flashing with anger.

“I’ve told him that time and time again,” I say, jumping into Oscar’s defence. “But you know what men are like, eh? They never listen. I’ll see to it that he’s punished.”

Ms. Holland grunts in responds and after giving Oscar the stink eye, she stalks down the corridor in her usual huffy manner.

“Don’t worry, Oscar, you’re not getting punished,” I say. “But I would advise you to keep out of her way for the next few days.”

“If only I could,” he says. “But I have double lessons with her after lunch.”

“Ouch. I’d hate to be in your shoes.”

“I don’t think anyone in the world would like to be in the shoes of male population in this school,” says Carrie.

“Erm, guys? Wasn’t we making our way to HQ?” says Rose.

“You’re right. We better get there, pronto,” I say.

The four of us hurry down the corridor – while being careful not to run into anyone else. We arrive outside the caretaker store cupboard with me sliding the light switch panel open and placing my thumb on the biometric panel to gain access. Carrie opens the door and we pile in the cupboard. When the door is closed, Oscar pulls the level and we descend down the lift to HQ.

Frank is already waiting for us when we arrive. “Ah, team – there you are,” he says. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I say. “We had a run-in with the Man Hat– er, I mean Ms. Holland.”

“I see. Well, you’re all here now, so let’s get down to business.” Frank switches on the middle computer monitor that shows a large six-storey building. “This is the Nickerson Technological and Engineering Centre – a research and development facility located in Middlesex. Last night, it was broken into. The only problem is we don’t know what was stolen.”

“Do we have footage from inside the building so we can see what the person looks like?” Rose asks.

“Unfortunately, no – all security cameras were taken out.”

“So it might be an inside job,” Oscar ponders.

“That’s what you need to find out.”

“Got any gadgets for us?” Carrie asks.

“Just this.” Frank holds up a pair of black framed Ray-Ban glasses. “The Digital Camera and Video Glasses. Slip on these high-tech specs and you can record videos or take photos of your surroundings. The hidden embedded camera will begin to record or take photos with a simple click of a button – which is on the right temple of the glasses. The glasses can take up to twenty minutes of video or one thousand, five hundred photos.”

“Ooh.” Carrie tries on the glasses. “Now this is the true definition of geek chic.”

“Better save that for when we get to the facility,” I say. “Let’s get going.”

The team and I collect our Jetpack Backpacks and head out of HQ. When we get to the surface, we exit the store cupboard and carefully zig-zag our way through the corridors and out of the school. Then we strap on out jetpacks, launch ourselves into the air and fly over to Nickerson.

xxoOoxx

We arrive at Nickerson a short time later. We land outside the fenced perimeter as the facility is being prominently guarded – front and back. Beyond guards, the area is populated by other individuals, most likely employees.

“So how are we doing this?” Carrie asks. “The place is crawling with guards.”

“Hmmm…” I say thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to infiltrate the facility. But Rose’s voice calls me out of my thoughts.

“Hey! Over here!”

Carrie and I go over to Rose and Oscar who are standing by a large manhole cover.

“We can enter Nickerson via the sewers,” says Rose. “I checked with my Spy-Pod.”

“The sewers? Really?” says Carrie, her face scrunching up.

I don’t want to do it either, but I don’t have time to agree with Carrie. We’ve got a job to do.

“Well, we can’t exactly go through the front door,” says Oscar. He bends down grab hold of the manhole cover. I help him out as the lid is heavy. It takes all our strength to pull it up and we do so, a blast of nasty stench hits us in the face. The manhole cover clangs as Oscar and I drop it and we cover our noses in disgust – so do Rose and Carrie – and we find ourselves looking into a black hole that stretches further than daylight can reach. I activate my torch with the watch-communicator and shine it into the hole. It goes by about fifty metres.

“OK, team,” I say. “As disgusting as this is, we’ve got a job to do. So… let’s do it.”

A rusty ladder runs down the side of the shaft. I check that no-one is looking and climb into the hole. I descend until at last my heel strikes the ground and I know I have reached the bottom of the sewer.

I move my light ahead of me, pointing the way ahead and throwing pure, white light on to my immediate surroundings. I’m at the middle of a long tunnel. The floor is covered with sewage sludge that’s an unattractive shade of brown and green and a horrible, damp smell hangs in the air. It’s cold in the sewer. I zip my catsuit up to my throat. Thank God Zeke made the catsuit using a material that’s a thick insulating cloth, protecting me from the cold and wet, while being fire retardant.

“Coming through!” I hear Oscar say. I move out of the way for him. Rose is next, followed afterwards by Carrie and we find ourselves suddenly in a tight space that leaves little room to breathe and even less to move.

“When we find the person who stole from this place,” says Carrie, “they’re gonna get the ultimate beating from me for forcing me to be in this small, cold, smelly, disgusting sewer.”

“That makes two of us,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I can use my Spy-Pod to lead the way,” says Rose.

We walk along down the long and dirty sewer, with me and Rose in the front and leading the way. Carrie and Oscar are walking closely behind us. It’s horrible here. It’s like being buried alive, and it takes all my strength to force myself forward. As we walk I can hear Carrie shivering and muttering.

“Is it a bad time to mention that I’m claustrophobic?” she asks, her voice small.

“You’re claustrophobic?” I ask.

“I didn’t know that until just now,” she says. “Are the walls moving? I feel like they’re moving.”

“Easy, Carrie,” says Oscar. His voice sounds so kind when he talks to her. Come to think of it, he’s been kind and sweet towards Carrie for some time. Could it be that… he likes her? “I’ll hold your hand tight and I won’t let go. I promise.”

Rose and I share a glance at each other with raised eyebrows. Yep – Oscar definitely likes Carrie.

We continue to follow the tunnel. There is absolutely no sound in the sewer apart from our squelching footsteps in the sludge, dripping water and unfortunately, the resident rats. I hear Carrie give a little squeak.

“Scary, huh?” I hear Oscar say. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

I smile to myself at that sweet moment. Maybe I should hook those two up like I did with Blane and Daisy.

The air is starting to warm up as we move deeper in the sewer. When we round a corner, I can feel a rush of warm air streaming towards me to the point where I unzip my catsuit. (Not completely all the way – I’m only showing the top on my cleavage!)

“We must be under the building now,” I say to Rose.

“Hm,” she replies with a nod. We move cautiously, wondering what we’re about to come to. We turn a corner and find something that catches my eye. I aim my torch and see that there is a ladder leading to a manhole cover on the ceiling.

“Wait here,” I whisper to the team, and approach the ladder. I climb up the metal rungs until I reach the manhole cover. Tentatively, I reach out and press upon the grille, but it’s screwed on tight. I take out my Laser Lipstick and cut around the grille, praying that no-one on the other of the room can hear what’s happening.

When I finish I take the grille with both hands and push. It lifts up. I slide the grille silently aside and carefully climb through the hole. I beckon the others to come and I help Rose through the hole, followed by Carrie. After Oscar comes through the hole, he reaches for the grille and sets it back in place. Provided nobody looks too closely, they won’t see anything wrong.

“I wonder where we are,” says Carrie.

“We’re inside Nickerson,” Rose replies.

“I know that! I mean, I wonder what part of the building we’re in.”

I deactivate my torch and look around the room. It is of considerable size, filled with pipes, pumps and valves, machinery, heaters and tanks, a boiler.

That’s when I know where we are.

“We’re in the boiler room,” I tell Carrie. I check for cameras, and then cross to the door. It’s unlocked. I open it, one centimetre at a time, and peered out. The door leads to a short corridor with a door at the end of it.

“Come on, the coast is clear,” I tell the team. We walk out of the boiler room and head for the door. I grab the handle, turn and pull.

It won’t move.

“Anyone got a hairpin?” I ask.

“I’ve got a paperclip,” Oscar says, fishing it out of his pocket. He goes to the door and clicks the lock with almost zero effort.

“Wow,” Carrie breathes, impressed. “You need to teach me how to do that.”

“Maybe later,” says Oscar. “Right now, we’ve got a mission.”

“But we can’t do it without a disguise,” I say, and use my watch-communicator to change into a green caretaker outfit with matching cap, along with mop and a bucket full of water. The others follow.

“That’s better,” I say. “I think we should stick together. That way if anything goes wrong, we can leave together.”

The team nod in agreement. “According to my Spy-Pod, there’s isn’t many people on the fourth floor, except for the five people huddled outside a lab on that floor,” says Rose. “I think that’s where the robbery took place.”

“Then that’s where we’re heading.”

The four of us leave the small corridor and enter a wider one where the employers are going about their daily business. The team and I make our way through the long corridor and head for the elevator. After we pile ourselves inside, Oscar presses the button for the fourth floor.

When we arrive on the floor, the four of us walk down another long corridor before turning a corner – and being stopped by a security guard.

“You cannot come here. This area of the building is off limits,” the lean, fair-haired figure says, his face blank.

“But we’ve cleaned all other floors,” Oscars says in an Eastern European accent to further his disguise. “Please, sir – you will not know that we’re here.”

“Did you not hear me the first time? I said this area is off limits. Now clear off, all of you.” The guard stares us down and the team and I have no choice but to turn and retreat back the way we came.

“Hmph! Rude much?” says Carrie, crossing her arms. “Did he forget to have his bowl of manners this morning or something?”

“He’s just doing his job, Carrie,” says Oscar.

“Yeah – and we’ve got five security guards who are just doing their jobs around that corner,” says Rose. “Now what do we do?”

I go into thinking mode. I look around the corridor and notice that the security cameras are all destroyed. I also notice that there’s a vent in the ceiling. I suddenly get an idea. If this was a cartoon, a twenty-five-watt light bulb will appear over my head.

“I’ve got it,” I say. “What if someone crawls through the vent to get into the office where the guards are at while the rest of us stay here and clean so we don’t arouse suspicion?”

“Carrie and I can go,” Rose offers. “I can use my Spy-Pod to get the directions and Carrie can use the Digital Camera and Video Glasses to get the evidence.”

“All right, then. First we need to get you into the vent.”

“I’ve got this,” says Carrie. She takes a few steps back and runs down the corridor. Suddenly, she leaps up, grabs the grille of the vent and pulls it down, opening it. Then she flips into the vent feet-first.

“I’m in!” she says, poking her head out.

“There’s no way I can do that,” says Rose.

“Don’t worry, Rose, you won’t,” I say. We head over to the vent, and I squat down and tell Rose to get on my shoulders. She climbs on my shoulders and I slowly stand up. Once I’m up, Rose is pulled into the vent by Carrie and at the last minute, she reaches for the grille and closes it.

“Right, that’s them off to do their jobs.” I turn to Oscar. “Now let’s do ours.” We immediately get to work and start cleaning the floor with our mops.

“I really don’t know how Frank does it,” says Oscar after a moment.

“Hey, you know what they say – it’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it,” I say. Oscar smiles in responds and carries on cleaning. As we clean, my mind wanders back to the sewers when Oscar was comforting and reassuring Carrie while she was fighting off the sense of claustrophobia and freaking out over the rats. I decide to use this opportunity to coax Oscar into confessing his feelings about Carrie.

“You know, Oscar… it was very kind of you to comfort Carrie while she was stressing out in the sewers earlier,” I say.

At this, his face flushes red. “Yeah, well, um… I was… I was just helping out a friend, that’s all,” he stammers.

“Right,” I say slowly. “And here’s me thinking that you were only comforting her just so she can hold your hand.” There is a little silence. “Oh, come on, Oscar! I’ve seen the way you look at Carrie. It’s been going on for weeks. You like her, don’t you?”

“Ssh! Not so loud!” says Oscar, looking around the corridor to see if anyone else heard. He’s going red right to the tips of his ears. He lets out a sigh. “You’re right, OK? I might have developed… feelings for Carrie. I’ve liked her for quite a while. She’s carefree and sweet, with a great big smile on her face and a sunny disposition on life. And at the same time, she’s a skilled gymnast and martial arts expert who can probably kick a man’s head clean off. But…”

“Let me guess – she doesn’t know that you like her?”

Oscar nods. “I don’t know if she likes me back or if she sees me as just a friend.”

“Mm-hm.” I say, nodding like I’m a therapist. “Well… if you want my advice, I say you should bite the bullet and tell Carrie how you feel.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jen…”

“Come on, Oscar, you’ve got to. Otherwise it’ll eat you up inside and you be wondering why you never made a move. So when we’re done with this mission, you’re gonna ask Carrie to the dance and while the two of you share a slow dance, you’re gonna man up and tell her how you feel. If she likes you back, hurrah. If she says she wants to remain friends, well at least you tried, but you’ll better that you told her. So… does that sound like a plan?”

A few seconds goes by before Oscar gives a small smile and nods. “That sounds like a very good plan to me,” he says.

“There you go! Carpe diem. Seize the day. Put aside all your fears and worries, and just go for it.”

This gives Oscar an even bigger smile, and we both get back to mopping.

“Hm. Speaking of Carrie, her and Rose should be back right about now…” I begin – and stop when I hear a commotion from around the corner. Oscar and I check it out – and find two security guards dragging out Rose and Carrie from the lab!

“Looks like cleaning time is over,” I tell Oscar. “Let’s go.”

We burst into action and charge at the guards, armed with only our mops.

“Hey, meathead!” I call to the guard who turned us away. As soon as he turns around, I leap in a forward turning motion and swing-smacks my mop downward as I land, knocking the guard out.

Another guard, who is short and muscular and black, charges towards me, but I use the mop handle to smack his head in a simple up-down, side-to-side motion before swinging the mop, golf-style, knocking him to the ground… by several feet.

“All units – we have trespassers on the fourth floor…” a fit, dark-haired man tells his colleagues on the radio. I rush over to him and use the tip of the mop handle to hit him, hard, under the chin. The guard gets knocked off his feet and lands flat on his back, the radio falling out of his hand and sliding down the corridor.

After I take him out, I turn to see if Oscar needs help – but he’s got the situation covered. He’s already knocked out one of the guards, and with the last one – who he seems to be playing tug of war, only with the mop – Oscar lets go of the handle, so the pole smacks itself hard into the guard’s face, incapacitating him. Ouch.

“Nice job, Oscar,” I say. I turn to Rose and Carrie. “Are you two OK?”

“We’re fine,” Carrie replies. “We’ve got everything that we need.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“How? It won’t be long before more security guards get here,” says Rose.

“I’ve got this,” says Oscar. He runs to the end of the corridor and activates the fire alarm. Then he runs back to us. “With people rushing to get out of the building, the guards will be swept up in the commotion, giving us time to escape!” Oscar yells over the screech of the alarm.

“Good thinking, Oscar!” I yell back. “Let’s vamoose!”

The team and I take off for down the corridor and head for the large EXIT sign hanging over the door. We shove it open and we’re greeted by a large group of workers rushing down the stairs to leave the building. We throw ourselves in and hurtle up the stairs, barging into people, zigzagging past those who won’t budge, bumping and jostling, until I see two security guards at the top of the fifth floor staircase. One of them tries to make a grab at me, but I dodge – making him grab Carrie instead, who lets out a scream.

“Carrie!” I scream as she struggles in the guard’s grip.

“Let her go!” Oscar yells, and palm strikes the guard on the nose. His grip on Carrie is lost as his nose starts gushing fountains of blood.

“Why you little…!” the other guard begins. He reaches for Oscar, but I jump in front of him and I poke the guard in his eyes. While he’s screaming and holding his eyes in pain, he and his nosebleeding partner are swept down the stairs by the crowd.

“I’ve got you, Carrie,” he says, grabbing her hand. He’s got the right idea, so I grab Rose’s hand and together, the four of us start running up again, pushing and shoving and dodging, up until we reach the top of the staircase. I take one look over my shoulder. More security men are clattering up the stairs with only a floor or so to spare.

“Keep moving!” I tell the team. We race down a short corridor, shoving through the door and out onto the roof.

We quickly change back into our spy suits, activate our Jetpack Backpacks and launch into the air, flying away from the building. In the distance, I hear the single word “Stop!” call out. Then there is a crack and a bullet whips past. The team and I rise higher into the sky, the guards becoming smaller and smaller, angrier and angrier.

I take a deep breath. “That was a real close call, wasn’t it?” I say. “Let’s get back to St Hope’s. We can all do with a rest.”

The team nod in agreement, and the four of us sail back to school through the sky.

xxoOoxx

By the time we land at St Hope’s, the team and I are absolutely knackered, but we use the last of our strengths to get into school and head down to HQ, where Frank is waiting for us.

“Welcome back, team,” he says. “How was it?”

“Well, other than walking through a sewer, masquerading as caretakers, beating up security guards and escaping with our lives, I say the mission went well,” I say.

Carrie whips out the Digital Camera and Video Glasses. “I got some pictures of what was taken,” she says, handing the glasses to Frank. He takes a USB plug and connects it with the glasses and the computer and starts to go through the photos.

“Hey, Oscar,” says Carrie. “Thanks for saving me from that guard. That was awesome what you did.”

“It was nothing,” he says, smiling shyly and sporting a bright blush.

I jab him in the ribs and clear my throat while jerking my head towards Carrie at the same time, as if I’m telling him that there’s something he needs to do – which he does, if he has the courage.

“Well, um, actually, Carrie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says.

“Fire away.”

All right, Oscar. It’s time for you to seize the day.

“I was wondering…” he says. “You know the valentine dance everyone’s been talking about? Tomorrow? I just thought I’d ask… um… d’you think we should go? Me… and you?”

Carrie and Rose stare at Oscar, stunned. Even Frank, with his ears pricking up, seems intrigued. Oscar is turning a deeper shade of red to a point where I think he might pass out.

But Carrie’s grin is a mile wide and she says, “Sure. I’d like that.”

It’s now Oscar’s turn to smile, mentally sighing in relief. Rose raises her eyebrows in amazement, while I give Oscar a small pat on the back and sit by the computers. I watch as Frank goes through blueprints of some sort of device that looks like a virtual reality headset.

“So,” I begin, “what have you found?”

“They’re blueprints to a machine that can read minds,” Frank replies. “It’s called the Brainwave Scanner. According to the blueprints, the device works by flashing a series of images in the mind of the subject and records their reaction. Soon the Scanner will have a ‘library’ of the subject’s thinking patterns. The Scanner then reads the subject’s mind and projects the images on a monitor.”

“So it’s obvious that the person who stole the Scanner is planning to use it for devious needs – like getting the combinations to the vault at a bank. It’s just finding out who that person is.”

“I might have something,” says Rose. She takes out a tore piece of black cloth. “While Carrie was taking pictures, I scooped around the lab and saw this snagged on the workstation. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to analyse it.”

“Don’t worry, Rose. I can scan it right here…” Frank stops when his phone rings. He sighs and stands up. “It’s from Mrs King. I have to go – I’m afraid the analysis will have to wait.”

“I’ll come too,” I say, standing up. “I need to shower at least three times to make sure I don’t smell like a toilet after going through that sewer.”

The three young spies nod in agreement, and the five of us exit HQ.

xxoOoxx

The day drags on. After school Frank and I head back home where I go upstairs to do some marking while Frank gets dinner started. I come down an hour later, and we eat and talk about the Valentine’s Day dance tomorrow, as well as the mission and of course, the wedding.

After a few hours of watching soaps and trashy TV, Frank and I head upstairs and get ready for bed. I change into my PJs, brush my teeth and snuggle down into the bed. I give Frank a quick kiss before he flicks out the lights. After a few minutes of lying awake, I close my eyes and fall fast asleep…

_Br-r-r-r-ring!_

I wake up with a jolt. The sound is coming from the table next to the bed. My mobile phone. I curse quietly to myself for not putting it in silent mode. And as the phone continues to ring, I curse again when I look at the time it says on the screen. 4:02 A.M. I kiss my teeth and end the call and put it on silent. Who the hell is calling me at this time? Probably anyone. Well, that anyone can call me in the morning – when I’m fully awake.

I lie back down, close my eyes and drift off back to sleep…

Only for the phone to start vibrating a few minutes later.

Once again, I wake up with a start. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble. I’m ready to give this person a piece of my mind. Without hesitating I answer the call. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” I whisper sharply.

And the last thing I remember is hearing white noise on the other end, followed by a voice who says the following in a rasping whisper that hurts my ear: “You are now under my control…”


	50. Evil Valentine's Day

**(Frank’s POV)**

The next morning I awake to the sound of the alarm on my phone. The room is pitch dark and still, except for the birds twittering outside. I feel across the bed, realizing Jenny isn’t there. She must be out on her morning run.

I slide out of bed and go over to the window, pulling the curtains open. The patch of sky I can see is charcoal-grey. Dark clouds hover menacingly. Perfect Valentine’s Day weather… not. Speaking of which, I want to prepare something special for Jenny before she comes back from her jog. I head out the bedroom and I creep down the stairs. Before I head to the kitchen, I notice that the front door is wide open.

That’s odd, I wonder. Jen never leaves the door open when she goes out jogging.

I shut the front door and proceed to the kitchen, where I get the ingredients to make pancakes. And not just any old pancakes – Valentine heart-shaped pancakes. I make eighteen within fifteen minutes, finishing it off with strawberries on the side and sprinkle with powdered sugar. I know Jenny won’t be able to eat eighteen pancakes in one sitting so I half the portion. I settle down and have the other half of the pancakes, and then I head up to the bathroom for a shower.

After getting dressed, I head back downstairs and I find that the pancakes are still on the table. Jen’s not back? Maybe she headed to St Hope’s after her jog. She still needs to make some last minute preparations for tonight’s dance.

I wrap the pancakes and place them in the fridge. Then I collect my Valentine gifts for Jen – a heart-shaped box of chocolates, perfume, and greetings card. I grab my coat, and I open the door and slip outside. The morning air is chilly and wet as I hop down the steps, searching my coat pocket for my car keys. I let the car warm up for a few minutes. A little doubt creeps into my mind. I’m glancing around the street, seeing that it looks kind of… _empty_. There are no lights in the windows of the houses and no people out walking or getting in their cars to go where they need to be.

That’s strange – people should be out and about now, I ponder.

Looking in the rear-view mirror at the still deserted street, I put the car in drive, and head toward St Hope’s. Not much traffic at this time in the morning. Not much traffic at all. Where is everybody? I wonder to myself.

It’s only when I drive through the high street that I regret asking that question. I stop the car, cut the engine and stare in disbelief. Everywhere is absolutely wrecked. It’s like there was some sort of riot. Some of the buildings are damaged with broken windows and have been looted. Other buildings, as well as cars, have been set on fire – some are burnt-out and some are still alight. Walls are covered with graffiti. Even the street lights have been damaged – with sparks flying out in an arc.

“Oh, my God,” I murmur. I climb out of the car and take a few steps, wondering what happened and at the same time wondering who or what could have done this.

Just then I hear a noise.

I whirl around, my eyes darting round the deserted and ruined street, to see where it’s coming from. There’s no-one around.

“Hello? Is anybody here?” I call.

“Hello?”

I jump when I hear a door creaking open… I pause – then I slowly turn, a look of genuine fear in my face as the door slowly edges open and out leaps… _a cat!_

“Phew,” I sigh in relief. Not what I’m expecting. It’s only a cat… I turn to go back to the car – and jump again when I see a young girl, who looks about nine or ten, standing close by. Her face is buried in her hands – she appears to be crying.

“Hello,” I say. The girl says nothing. I take two steps forward. “What’s your name? Where are your parents?”

No reply.

“Why are you crying? Do you know what happened here?” I ask, walking closer – but I stop when the girl glares up at me. Her eyes look empty and worse than that, there are no tears streaming down her face. What is going on?

Out of nowhere, the girl launches herself at me, tackling me to the ground. She’s on top of me, scratching and clawing my face – or at least she’s trying to. I can tell that her fingernails have been bitten right down so that the ends of her fingers bulged.

That aside I need to find a way to get the child off me without hurting her. And I have to think quickly, because now that the girl knows she can’t scratch my eyes out, she has her hands around my neck – and I think I might have it. I reach out and applying pressure to the base of her neck, the girl is rendered unconscious and falls on top of me.

For a moment I don’t move.

I gently roll the girl off me, laying her next to me. Then I sit up, trying to catch my breath and figuring why a ten-year-old girl attacked me. But I look up and see a large group of women and children – all girls – standing some distance away. They’re all glaring at me – their eyes cold and empty. They start walking towards me. Slowly at first, but now they’re picking up a bit of speed. I have to get out of here – but I can’t leave the girl behind in case they trample over her. So I pick her up and carry her to my car. As I slide her in the passenger seat, I hear the footsteps of the women charging towards us. I climb into the driver’s seat, shut the door after me and lock it – just as the women finally reach the car and start attacking. Fortunately for me they can’t do any real damage because the car comes with ultra-tough glass and bodywork capable of withstanding any impacts. (Thank God I had this car customized by security and counter-surveillance experts.) But it won’t stop them from tipping it over – I’ve got to get away without the risk of hurting anyone.

And I’ve got just the thing.

After I start up the engine, I deploy the tear-gas mechanism that is hidden behind the wheel arches outside the car to temporarily stun the women surrounding it. As they cry, sneeze and cough, I make a quick getaway.

Just when I thought I was out of the woods, I stare up and see that more women have reveal themselves, on the roofs of shops, restaurants, pubs and clubs, throwing trash at the car. Even more women are coming out of the buildings and start chasing after me, throwing what they can at me. My foot is pressed down, the accelerator against the floor. The car is doing about seventy. Objects are hitting me hard. It’s as if I’m under attack, and bombs are falling from the skies, but I manage to get away from the women and the rioting chaos of the high street.

I don’t stop until I reach St Hope’s. I screech to a stop at the gates of the school, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the girl’s chest to stop her from being thrown against the dash. I open the driver’s side door and carry the girl out.

I race across the playground with the girl still clutched in my arms and enter the school. I’m just glad that I’m the only one here. No-one else has the keys to the school, other than me, Mr. Flatley and… Mrs King.

Oh no.

I hear noises. It’s coming from the assembly hall. I creep silently down the corridor to the door and I push it open a few inches. I peer through the crack. The hall is completely trashed – the decorations that Jenny and the Year Elevens spent two weeks putting up are now being taken down by female pupils and staff, including Mrs King. They’re flipping chairs and tables over; reaching up and clawing at the banners, fairy lights and paper lanterns, all of them, tearing them down; ripping the heads off the plush toys; bursting balloons.

All that hard work… gone.

I close the door gently and I turn to head down to HQ – but stop when Avril, Davina and a few other female pupils appear from round the corner. I start to slowly back away just as the girls start to menacingly walk towards me with nothing but a cold glare on their faces.

Their walk soon becomes running, and I turn in the opposite direction and take off down the corridor.

I’ll admit that it’s not easy while carrying a ten-year-old child – especially when you’re climbing up three flights of stairs – but I need to find out what the hell is going on. Most of all, I need to lose my pursuers who are hot on my heels.

As I dash down the corridor, I hear someone call my name.

“Frank!”

I turn and relief sweeps my face when I see Mr. Flatley poke his head from a room. “Over here!” he says, motioning me over.

I rush into the classroom and soon as the door is closed, chairs and tables pile up and barricade the door. Outside I hear the footsteps of my pursuers dashing past the classroom and continuing down the hall. I see that as well as Mr. Flatley, several male staff and pupils – including Donovan and Scoop – are also in the room.

“Oh, Frank, thank God you’re all right,” says Mr. Flatley.

“Mr. F, do you know what’s going on? Why are all the women going berserk and attacking everything?” I ask.

“I have no idea. All I know is that when I came into the school, I heard a commotion coming from the library and when I arrived, the female staff and pupils were vandalizing the place. I called for them to stop and as soon as they saw me, they started coming after me. I came in here and have been hiding since, looking out for any male staff or schoolboy who is being chased by crazed women…”

“And he’s got one of them, Mr. Flatley!” Donovan declares, pointing at the girl in my arms. Everyone backs away from me, looking nervous and scared.

“No, no, it’s OK! She’s unconscious,” I tell them – but they’re not listening.

“Throw her out, Frank! She’s gonna attack us!” Mr. Flatley cries.

“She’ll wake up and call out all the girls in school and give away our hiding place!” Scoop exclaims. The others join in, saying that I should throw her out. I try to protest but it falls on deaf ears.

“I’m sorry, Frank, but either you send her out or you’ll have to leave,” Mr. Flatley tells me.

I can’t throw her out because I need to find out what’s happening. I sigh in defeat and nod. “That’s fine by me,” I say.

Scoop, Donovan and some of the pupils remove the tables and chairs, and I leave the classroom. I look up and down the corridor to make sure that no female pupils or teachers are coming out of the other classrooms or round the corners. Then I take off.

I head down the stairs and through the corridor until I reach the caretaker store cupboard. I gain access and enter the cupboard. Then I pull the lever and the lift takes me down to HQ. When the doors part open, I take the girl to the medical room. I place her on the bed and I strap her down. I know it’s cruel but I can’t risk having her attacking me again or anyone who comes into HQ.

I leave the girl to rest and get my phone out to call MI9. There must be someone who’s there that can answer, but the phone rings for ages before I hang up. Of course no-one in MI9 will answer – the male agents are either out there with the police trying to restore law and order. I have a little think of who to call next – and there’s one person who comes to mind.

I phone him, hoping he would pick up – but there’s no such luck. After I hang up, I stare at the phone, thinking of whom else to call. But there’s no-one else. Another person does come to mind, but I know there’s a chance that she won’t pick up.

I know she’ll be under the effects of what is happening but I’m already ringing her. After a few rings it goes to voicemail. I hang up and try her communicator. There’s still no answer, so I call Rose and Carrie on their pencil communicators. Again, no-one is answering. I wonder where they could be. Probably out there causing riots and destroying property. All in all, I hope they’re OK.

Just then I get a call from my phone. “Hello?” I answer.

“Frank – it’s Oscar,” he says.

“Oscar! Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. What the hell is going on? I was on my way to school when a group of women started chasing after me and throwing stuff at me!”

“I have no idea. All I know is that whatever is happening, it’s only the women that have been affected, causing riots and attacking men. Where are you?”

“I’m making my way to the school.”

“Oscar, you can’t come here. The school is being torn apart from the inside out. Go home and lock the doors.”

“I can’t – I’m here already. I’ll meet you in HQ.”

“Oscar…!” I start, but he had already hung up the phone. He’ll get massacred up there and I can’t go up there to help him without being massacred myself. And I’ve got an unconscious child strapped to a bed who can wake up any second, and start tearing up HQ. I just hope Oscar can get here without being spotted.

But before I can worry anymore, the lift doors open. I turn and see that Oscar has made it in one piece. But I’m more surprised to see that he’s looking… different. He’s dressed in the girl’s school uniform of St Hope’s – red jumper, white blouse, grey miniskirt and coloured tie. And to top it off, he’s wearing a blonde pigtail wig.

“Now I know what you’re thinking, Frank,” he says. “But this was the only way I can come to the school without arousing suspicion from any women. After I got away from that mob, I used my Spy Watch to disguise myself.”

“I’m just glad that you’re here and you’re OK,” I say.

“So what is happening to all the women? Why are they acting all crazy? Why are they trying to attack us?”

“I don’t know. But I do have someone who can tell us. Come with me.”

I lead Oscar to the medical room where the girl is still unconscious and strapped to the bed.

“This looks a bit extreme,” he says.

“Health and safety – I can’t have her running about HQ and destroying the place. Not to mention attacking us,” I say. “Do you have your Spy-Pod?”

Oscar takes it out of his bag and hands it to me. I open the device and use the screen to scan over the girl’s body.

“Everything looks normal,” I say. “I can’t detect any substances or any abnormality.”

“So what’s making them go crazy?” Oscar asks.

I’m about to answer when a ringing sound cuts me off. Oscar and I take out our phones – but the ringing is not coming from them. Where is it coming from? Oscar and I look to the girl. I reach into the girl’s pocket and take out a phone. A withheld number is flashing on the screen. I answer the phone.

“Hello?”

On the other end of the line, I hear static. It’s emitting a high-frequency sound that’s making my head hurt.

“What’s happening?” Oscar asks.

“Nothing. All I’m getting is static,” I say. What is going on?

Suddenly, there’s a bloodcurdling shriek. Oscar and I turn to see that the girl is wide awake, screaming and struggling to break out of her restraints.

“All men are inferior! They are scum! They are lying, cheating, no-good arseholes! Ruination to all men! RUINATION TO ALL MEN!” the girl rages. She’s thrashing around violently to get free of her restraints.

“We need to do something! She’s gonna break free any second!” Oscar exclaims.

I search through the cupboards to see what I can find to calm the girl down. Then I spot it – the Knockout Aerosol can. I take it out and bring out two cloths. “Cover your nose with this, Oscar,” I tell him, handing the cloth to him. He does what I say and covers his mouth and nose with the fabric. I do the same, and I approach the girl. I spray the can of knockout gas on the girl. As soon as she breathes it, she stops struggling, coughs weakly a few times and then slumps back on the bed unconscious.

After she’s knocked out, Oscar and I leave the medical room. I lock the door and we move away from the room.

“OK… what the hell just happened?” Oscar asks after he removes the cloth. “What’s with the ‘ruination to all men’ mantra?”

“It had something to do with the phone call we got,” I reply. “The girl and all other women are hearing something that we can’t.”

“So someone is controlling them?”

“Hm. If only we knew what with.” I sit at the computer where the screen lights up, showing the blueprints that I was looking through yesterday. I turn to the screen and I see something that catches my eye. There’s a small note written in the corner of the blueprint. I enlarge the note and read it.

My eyes widen. “I don’t believe it,” I gasp.

“Frank? What’s wrong?” Oscar asks.

“I’ve just found out more information about the Brainwave Scanner. Listen to this: ‘Scanner still needs to be adjusted. After a recent testing with test subject to extract information, we have just discovered that the device can also plant information into the mind of subject’. So not only can the Scanner be used to read minds, it can be used to control minds.”

“So the person who broke into Nickerson stole the Scanner because of its brainwashing function and is now using it to control the women via mobile phones.”

“Exactly. If only we can find the person who stole it.”

“What about the piece of cloth Rose had yesterday? You were about to analyse it but Mrs King called.”

“I could – but the only problem is I never took that cloth from Rose. She still has it and I have no idea where she is. The same goes for Carrie and Jenny. I’ve tried calling their phones and communicators but they’re not picking up. I even tried tracking them, but… no such luck.”

There’s a small pause before Oscar says, “What about the person who stole the Scanner? We know that they’re using a mobile phone to communicate with the women. We can use a call tracking software to get a geographical location of the caller.”

“Oscar, that’s genius! Why didn’t I think of that before?” I get out the USB plug and connect the phone to the computer. I download all the calls from the last twelve hours to the computer. A map of London appears on the screen and I get to work.

It’s taking me a while to locate the caller as the number is withheld, but after nearly thirty minutes of typing and hacking… a big red dot appears on the screen.

“I found them!” I say. I type some more to zoom in on the location. “The calls are coming from the Central Transmitting Station in Upper Norwood, Croydon. Our only problem is how to get there. We can’t leave without being noticed by the women and getting butchered.”

“Actually, Frank, might be a way to get there without arousing suspicion,” says Oscar.

“How?”

Oscar raises his eyebrows, nodding down at this outfit. I soon realize what he’s getting at.

“You can’t be serious?” I say.

“It’s the only way, Frank,” Oscar replies. “The women won’t look twice if you dress up in drag.”

“I think you’ll find that they will. In case you haven’t noticed, Oscar, I’ve got a five o’clock shadow.”

“So? We’ll just say that it’s a result of a hormonal imbalance. Now hush up and be still.”

I’m about to protest but Oscar has pointed his Spy Watch at me and before I know it I’m in my disguise. I look down and see that I’m wearing a pink blouse with a sizeable false breast under it, a matching pink jacket, a black leather miniskirt, thigh high stockings and heeled shoes. I go to the lab and grab a mirror. I stare at my reflection in shock. I’m wearing a short black wig, pink earrings and red lipstick. I look like Freddie Mercury from the music video of ‘I Want to Break Free’.

When I return to Oscar I can see him biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Looking good, Frank,” he titters.

“Yes, yes, laugh it up, Oscar,” I say. “We’ve got a mission, remember? Now let’s head over to the transmitting tower and get this over with.”

“What about the girl?”

I head to the medical room and check on her. She’s still sound asleep.

“She’ll be all right for an hour or so. I’ll put HQ in lockdown so she doesn’t escape and let the others know,” I say. “You ready?”

Oscar nods, and together we leave HQ. When we get to the top and leave the storage cupboard, we check to see if there’s anyone around. When we see that the coast is clear, we make a run for it down the corridor – I say run, I mean stagger. I can barely walk freely these high-heeled shoes let alone run.

When we leave the school we scurry across the playground to the car. After we get in, I start up the engine, pull the car away from the gate and we head for Croydon.

xxoOoxx

After nearly a daunting hour and fifteen minutes of driving through the chaotic streets of London and avoiding the wild and aggressive women, we finally arrive at Central Transmitting Station. The facility is located in an open space – a small compact station with a high self-supporting lattice tower next to it.

“Well, here we are,” I say. “All set?”

“Yeah,” Oscar replies. “But I’ve been thinking – shouldn’t we call for back-up?”

“I’ve tried, but no-one is answering. They’re either trying to restore law and order or they’re locked up at home. So we’re on our own. Are you OK with that?”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Oscar nods. “Yeah. Let’s go save the women of London.”

We jump out of the car and make our way to the facility. I was expecting some sort of security patrolling the grounds and stopping people like Oscar and myself from entering the building but upon entering, we’re greeted to a dark and empty reception. This person thinks that because the women are running riot and the men are defending themselves, they think they’re invincible and no-one can stop them.

We’ll see about that.

Oscar and I creep up a path that provides three doors to left of us. I try out the first door, but find that it’s locked. The same goes for the second door – but the third door is slightly open. I raise a finger to my lips at Oscar, and we tip-toe over to the door, ready to burst in and take the mystery caller out.

“On the count of three,” I whisper to Oscar. “One, two, three.”

We kick open the door off its hinges and spring into the room, getting into a fighting stance. “This is MI9!” Oscar shouts – but we’re taken aback when we find the room empty.

“Huh?” Oscar and I say, confused. “What’s going on?” Oscar adds.

Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t as easy as I thought it would be?

My question is answered when from my peripheral vision I sense a figure behind us – and they’re heading for us!

“Oscar, behind you!” I tell him. We turn around, but it’s too late – our mysterious figure has caught us.

There are three of them – all women, wearing ski masks – and they seize me and Oscar by our arms and half-drag us out of the office, down the hall and back outside. Their grips are like iron, no chance at all of getting away.

They take us to the tower where sitting on a chair at the base of the structure is the person responsible controlling the minds of them and the female population of London. They’re wearing the Brainwave Scanner – and it’s hooked up to the antenna located on the tower. So that’s their plan: by hooking up the Scanner to the antenna, it enables the user to amplify and broadcasts its mind control power all across London, which allows them to take control of all the women in the city via mobile phones.

Oscar and I get thrown to the ground. We get up and dust ourselves off. We stare at the person wearing the helmet-sized scanner. The black visor is flipped up, and my jaw drops in when I see who it is.

Oscar is more shocked than I am as he lets out a gasp. “Ms. Holland?”

Yes, the very same Ms. Holland – or as Jenny calls her, the Man Hater – who teaches Science at St Hope’s, who is unilaterally hostile towards all men due to a rather messy and bitter divorce after her husband of thirty-three years left her for a younger woman. She looks startled upon seeing me and Oscar – and the fact that we’re in clothes worn by the opposite sex.

“Close your mouths, you cretins. You look like guppy fish at feeding time,” she says.

Oscar and I clamp our mouths shut.

 “Well, well, well,” Ms. Holland starts. “If it isn’t my least favourite male student and the caretaker. What a pleasant surprise – and a surprise it is indeed seeing you dressed like that. You look like a Queen tribute act ready to perform ‘I Want to Break Free’. I thought you would be at home with all the doors and windows locked while my mind-controlled sisters attempt to eliminate you.”

“So you’re the person responsible controlling the women,” I say. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“You’ve heard about fury in a woman scorned, haven’t you? Well, that’s nothing compared to the fury of a woman who has been cheated by the husband of thirty-three years for a promiscuous and unintelligent orange-skinned trollop – and then not only leaves you for her but also a nasty rash down below. Did you know that he left me on Valentine’s Day? The day of romance and the celebration of love? I cooked dinner that day and had roses petals laid out for him for when he arrived home. I thought we would re-enact our honeymoon – ignite the flame that had been diminished months before after he became distant and ignored me by working ‘late nights’. When he came home, he told me outright that he was leaving me. He told me that he had been having an affair with his secretary for nearly fifteen months and he had fallen in love with her. Then he went upstairs, packed a bag and left. I had never felt so upset and so humiliated in my whole life. My Valentine’s night was ruined by not only him but by her, for stealing him away from me. Now they’re living their new lives with their two-year-old son while I’m stuck in a one-bedroom flat after they took everything I worked so damn hard for!”

I can see Ms. Holland is reliving the past. She’s allowing the past to destroy her.

“But it’s not just that,” she continues. “It’s not just about the affair. You men think that you’re all so inherently superior in every domain and that we women ought to stay in the kitchen, bore your children and grovel at the feet of you bastards. Well not anymore! Today is not just the day I get vengeance against my ex-husband: I want _all men_ to pay for what was done to us. With the help of the Brainwave Scanner, I will brainwash the women of London into eliminating you inferior beings. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Holland,” says Oscar. “Frank and I intend to stop you and your crazy scheme.”

As he starts to charge towards the Science teacher, I can see she has a small smirk on her face. “I don’t think so,” she murmurs. She has something planned!

“Oscar, wait!” I call, but it’s too late. The three mysterious assailants appear from nowhere and dropkick Oscar. He gets knocked off his feet and is forced backwards, flipping over in the process.

“Oscar!” I exclaim, rushing to his side. I help him onto his feet. “Oscar, are you OK?”

“My head is banging…” he groans, rubbing his head – but stops when he looks up. “Oh no.”

“Oscar? What’s wrong?” I say. He nods to what he’s staring at. “Oh no.”

I’m stricken by what I see – three familiar faces standing in front of Ms. Holland, their faces now uncovered and looking aloof and emotionless.

It’s Jenny, Rose and Carrie.

“You like?” says Ms. Holland. “They’re my three personal bodyguards – my three favourite people from St Hope’s. I chose Rose because she’s the only person who shows interest in my lessons and enjoys them – unlike everybody else – and I’m in favour of her academic skill. With Carrie and her sickening cheerful, happy-go-lucky personality, she reminds me of what life was like before I discovered that all men were scum. And as for Miss Brownstone – I’m pretty much saving her the pain and heartache that you will cause for her, Mr. London. It won’t be long before you trade her in for a younger model.”

“That’s not true! I love Jenny!” I yell. “I don’t intend on leaving her for any other woman. Just because your marriage ended bitterly doesn’t mean that ours will. I plan on being with Jenny for all time. Now let her, and everyone else go!”

Ms. Holland stares at me, shocked of how I’m going to spend the rest of my life with the woman I love. She lets out a sigh and says, “You know… I was going to spare you and Mr. Cole – let you become my pets. But now…” Her face is suddenly stone, “I plan on having the both of you annihilated – by the women in your lives!” Ms. Holland flips down the visor. “Miss Brownstone, Miss Gupta and Miss Stewart – destroy those weak-minded, good-for-nothing, scum-of-the-earth men.”

With a nod, Jenny, Rose and Carrie instantly swing into action and start to charge towards us. Oscar and I break away and jump out of the way, with me going left and Oscar going right. The girls skid to a halt. They look over to me, then Oscar. They turn to each other and nod. They girl split up into two teams, with Rose and Carrie going for Oscar, and Jenny charging towards me.

Jenny lashes out at me. I can barely block her tremendous punches and kicks as she’s so fast.

“Jen, listen to me! This isn’t you – Ms. Holland is controlling you!” I tell her.

“Never! I’m a master of self-control!” she says. She tries to take a swing at me but at the last moment, I side-step the attack and counter-attack by pulling Jenny to the shoulder and strike through, knocking her to the ground.

“Please, don’t do this. It’s me, Frank – your fiancé. We’re in love – we’re getting married in less than three months.”

Jenny is back on her feet and it seems she’s not listening to me as she lunges at me with a punch. At the last moment, I raise my hand, palm out, and block the punch. She takes a swing at me with her other hand, but I block that attack.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jen,” I plead.

Her mouth creases into a devious smirk. “Good. That makes it easy for me to hurt you!” she says, and then she delivers a massive high kick, knocking me off my feet, sending me backwards. I land painfully on my back.

“Ow…” I groan. I stagger back on my feet, rubbing my chin where I was kicked. I look up and see Jenny charging with a side kick. I manage to duck under the kick, hook the Jenny’s standing foot with my instep and pull in a straight motion, causing her to lose her balance and fall.

Jenny gets back on her feet via backflip. She shakes off her assault. Her smile is gone. Her eyes turn to stone. “You’re starting to become annoying. And it’s pissing me off!” she exclaims. She throws a barrage of punches and kicks, coming at me with everything that she has. I can barely dodge them, let alone block the attacks or fight back. She’s just too fast and too good.

Just then, Jenny explodes with a full-powered foot sweep, followed by a roundhouse kick to my head. As my foot is swept, I spin into Jenny’s roundhouse, which makes contact with my mouth. I hit the ground hard.

I’m in absolute pain. Blood trickles from a split lip. I try to sit up but Jenny pins me down with her foot on my chest. She has a wicked smile on her face. She’s got me on the ropes.

“Any last words before I finish you off?” she says.

It’s time to take some desperate measures to turn things round – and I think I might know just the thing.

“Yeah – this,” I say, grabbing the leg that’s on my chest and pulling it off, causing Jenny to fall back. She tries to get up but I go on top of her, pinning her wrists by the sides of her head and trapping her legs with my weight. “Maybe this will make you see sense,” I say, and I cover her mouth with a hungry, brutal kiss. When she gasps at my forcefulness, my tongue shoots into her mouth, aggressively.

After a few seconds, I pull my head back and release her wrists. We’re both breathing hard. I hope this works.

“Jenny? Are you there?” I say. For a moment, she’s too stunned to say or do anything. “Jen?”

“You… you kissed me,” she says breathlessly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” I sigh in relief – I got my girl back.

Suddenly a fist flies out and hits me square in the face. I fall flat on my back. I don’t think the ‘I’ll-kiss-some-sense-back-into-her’ plan worked. I’m in so much pain – especially in my left eye. It hurts like hell and is starting to swell shut.

Jenny is standing over me, very peeved about what I did. “You just signed your death warrant, you dick,” she says. “Now rather than making your death quick and painless, I’m gonna make it slow and painful.”

There’s nothing I can do. My eyes widen with terror as her foot lifts up and hovers over my face, ready to finish me off.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a net is thrown at Jenny and she falls back.

“Huh?” I say, confused. I get up and see her flailing around, desperately trying to free herself. I turn to see that Rose and Carrie are also entangled in nets. But who is doing this?

A whistle catches my attention and I whirl around to see Zeke! He’s there with Oscar – who looks bruised and bloody – and he’s carrying a large crossbow. They rush over to me.

“I give you the Net Launcher Crossbow,” says Zeke. “Don’t leave home without it.”

“Zeke, you’re here,” I say. “How did you find us?”

“After I saw your missed call, I tracked you from your phone and made my way here as quickly as I could. And let me tell you something it wasn’t easy, especially when you’ve got women and young girls chasing after you, throwing junk at you, wanting to kill you. Anyway, Oscar has explained the situation to me – so it solves the mystery on why my mother, along with four million, eighty-six thousand, nine hundred and fifty other women are going ape-shit, and why you two are dressed in drag.”

I nod. “We need to get the Brainwave Scanner off Ms. Holland before London and the male population are done for!” I say. “Let’s go!”

Oscar, Zeke and I take off running, heading towards the teacher. She’s still oblivious to what is happening when we reach her.

“OK – how are we doing this?” Oscar asks.

“Well we can’t exactly take the direct approach and yank the helmet off her head,” says Zeke. “The device is connected to a live tower and unless you want one hundred thousand volts coursing through your veins and frying your insides, we can’t touch it.”

“But how come it’s not frying Ms. Holland?”

“The lining of the helmet must have a double-thick pad of rubber – so it acts as an insulator,” I reply. “So the question is how can we get the helmet off without touching the helmet?”

“You bastards!” I hear Jenny shout. I look up and see that she’s freed herself from the net – as have Rose and Carrie. “You three will pay for that cheap shot!”

The girls start running towards us. Zeke uses the Net Launcher Crossbow on them, but they jump out of the way of the net and continue coming towards us.

“There’s just no end to them,” says Oscar. “There’s no way we can beat them off. What are we going to do?”

I get to thinking. There has to be a way to fend off Jenny, Rose and Carrie and get the Brainwave Scanner off Ms. Holland. I look to the teacher and then to the girls. It is then that I get an idea.

“I’ve got a plan,” I tell Oscar and Zeke. They look confused when I step in front of Ms. Holland, but they follow suit. “Just follow my lead.”

Jenny, Rose and Carrie have stopped – they’re a short distance away from us.

“Um, Frank? I think now would be a good time to tell us the plan,” says Zeke.

“Just give it a minute and wait for my signal,” I tell him.

“Well, well. This is the end for you,” Jenny says smugly. “It’s time to take out the trash!”

The girls leap towards us with a flying kick. The timing has to be right.

“Uh, Frank? The plan – in your own time,” says Oscar.

“Wait a second…” I reply.

“Huh? What’s going on?” Ms. Holland has flipped open the visor – just in time to see her plan fail right before her eyes.

“This is what’s going on,” I tell her. Then I tell Oscar and Zeke to jump aside – which we do. I land in a roll and look up, watching Ms. Holland scream in horror as Jenny, Rose and Carrie land their kicks on her, knocking her back. As a result, the Brainwave Scanner flies off her head, its cables ripped off the tower, and the helmet lands and rolls on the ground. I climb onto my feet, rush over to the device and smash it with my foot, destroying it in the process.

“Mmm…? What’s going on?” Rose says, dazed.

“Huh? Where are we?” says Carrie, confused.

“Can somebody explain to me why my head feels like it’s about to split open?” Jenny groans, rubbing her head.

“Yay! They’re all back to normal!” Zeke cheers. He and Oscar rush over to Rose and Carrie, checking if they’re all right.

I happily run over to Jenny and pull her into a hug. “Oh, Jen. I’m so glad that you’re OK.”

“Um… thanks,” she replies, baffled. “But would you mind telling me what is going on? Why are you dressed like you’re about to enter a Freddie Mercury lookalike contest? How did you get that busted lip and black eye?”

“And why is Ms. Holland lying unconscious on the ground?” says Rose, looking down at the Science teacher, her arms and legs spread wide and her glasses snapped in two.

“It’s a _long_ story,” Oscar tells the girls. “But know this now – Ms. Holland won’t be teaching for a very, very long time.”

It takes about an hour for an MI9 van to come and pick up Ms. Holland. I drive the team back to St Hope’s with Oscar explaining to the girls what had happened to them. As we drive through the city, we see the resulting chaos generated – millions of pounds worth of property damaged by vandalism and vehicles destroyed by arson. It’ll take while to get London back on its feet.

When we return to St Hope’s Oscar goes to HQ to collect the girl and return her to her family while I head to the classroom where Mr. Flatley and all the male staff and pupils are hiding and inform them that the crisis is over. They’re relieved, but at the same time they’re horrified after seeing the damaged – especially Jenny who stares in sheer horror at the site of the assembly hall.

School was cancelled for the next few days. The staff and pupils chip in to get everything back in order. Over the course of the week, my injuries have healed up and faded away – the same goes for Oscar.

We have the Valentine dance the following Friday, with everyone bringing in their own decorations – mostly Christmas lights and tinsel – and their own food and drink. After everything has been set up, Jenny is in awe with the transformation.

The dance is in full swing. Scoop is on stage DJing, with half of the Year Elevens jiggling about on the dance floor while the other half standing around the edges, trying to decide when it will be cool to join in. Even Mrs King is having a great time, relaxing and laughing with Richie.

I’m standing with Oscar and Zeke, waiting for the girls to arrive. (We invited Zeke as a thank-you for saving London.) I watch as people dance around, and having the time of their lives, wearing costumes from different eras. I’m dressed as a 1950s greaser delinquent: a fitted white T-shirt, black leather jacket, blue jeans and black Converse shoes, and hair in a perfect pompadour. Jenny also made me ditch the glasses and shave off my stubble because she says and I quote, “I don’t recall greasers rocking the four-eyed, five o’clock shadow look.”

Oscar is dressed as a gangster from the 1920s: a black pinstriped suit, with a black shirt underneath. A red tie and matching handkerchief and white trilby hat with a black satin hat band complete the look. Zeke has gone for the 1960s Austin Powers look: a dark blue crushed velvet suit, a white dickey with cravat and black Beatle boots. He’s also wearing a brown wig with swept bangs and bowl cut and his trademark black-framed glasses.

“It’s great seeing everyone having fun,” says Zeke. “After what happened last week, it’s nice to see everyone letting their hair down.”

“Yeah. You should have seen Mr. Flatley,” says Oscar. “He was literally jumping for joy when I told him that Ms. Holland wasn’t coming back to St Hope’s. Him and the rest of the male population of the school.”

“Still, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Over thirty years of marriage and he leaves you for a younger woman? In a way I kinda see where she’s coming from. I mean if I found out my girl cheated on me and left me for another guy, I’d probably go bat-shit crazy, too – but less of the ‘I’ll-control-the men-into-taking-out-the-female-population’ kind of way and more of the ‘Post-embarrassing-pictures-of-the-people-in-question-on-the-Internet’ kind of way. But I’m not that kind of person who will do anything as horrible as that because I’m a nice guy.”

“It still didn’t give Ms. Holland the right to do something as insane as this. Not all men are bad. There are some good guys – but she’s too blind with anger to see it. Maybe someday if she’s ever gets released from prison, Ms. Holland will meet someone who’ll treat her right, be with her and never leave her. And if that happens, maybe her hatred for men will be long forgotten.”

Zeke and I murmur in agreement.

“Well there’s a lesson to be learnt after everything that has happened,” I say. “Treat a woman like a princess and she’ll make you the happiest man alive…”

“Treat her like crap and she’ll make your life a living hell!” a voice cuts in.

I spin round and my eyes widen in surprise when I see Jenny. She looks amazing. She’s dressed as a wholesome 1950s girl – the Sandy Olsen to my Danny Zuko. Her dress has a red bodice, with short white sleeves and a full knee-length white skirt is flocked with a design of flying cupids, hearts and bows. Her accessories include gold stun earrings, short white sheer gloves with red bows and red high-heeled open-toed mules with her toenails on displayed, painted ruby red – the same colour as her fingernails. Her ink-black hair is styled in a ponytail pulled up and away from her face and tied by a red ribbon.

Her full, scarlet-coloured lips curve into a smile. “Well, what do you think?” she asks, giving a twirl.

“Wow, Jen. You look… just wow,” I say.

She giggles in response. “Why, thank you,” she says. “And can I say you’re looking a bit wow yourself?”

I grin, glowing with pride.

“How about us?” I hear Carrie demand. “Think we make a good impression?”

I look to her and Rose – and they look a knockout. Carrie looks elegant wearing a sleeveless dress in flapper-style, with a drop waist bodice and embroidered peacock feather design in shades of teal, purple, and gold. She’s also wearing long black gloves, long blue and black beaded necklaces, sheer black tights and black Mary Jane shoes. Her hair is styled in a fashionable curly bob, neatly tucked under by her black feathered headband. And Rose looks fantastic, dressed as a 1960s mod girl: a purple sequined dress mini dress with bell sleeves, with a matching glitter headband and long boots. Her hair is long and sleek, swinging like a gleaming black curtain, and like me she’s left the glasses at home.

“You two look stunning,” I tell the girls, with Oscar and Zeke agreeing.

“Yeah, Carrie – you look incredible,” Oscar adds.

“Thanks! And you look handsome,” Carrie replies, and giggles when he blushes.

“I have to say, Rose, that you are looking groovy, baby!” says Zeke, winking at her.

“Th-thanks,” she replies, going red. “You’re looking… totally rad, man.”

Jenny gives me a nudge, her eyes giddy with excitement at the romantic sight blooming in front of us.

Just then ‘Crazy in Love’ by Beyoncé starts to play.

“Oh, that glorious music – just makes a girl want to dance!” says Carrie, starting to move with the beat. “Come on, Oscar. Let’s hit the dance floor and do the Charleston to this song!” She takes Oscar’s hand and leads him to the floor.

“How about it, Rose?” says Zeke, extending his hand. “Ready to get on down and boogie?”

Her cheeks are now pink, but Rose nods and she takes Zeke’s hand and they fade into the crowd.

It’s just me and Jenny now. “They all make cute couples, don’t they?” Jenny asks, watching the four having a dance and then a laugh.

“Yeah – they do,” I say. “Cupid must be proud of himself.”

“He should be. I bet he was when he brought us together.” She snuggles up to me, and I smile in response.

“I meant what I said, Jen. I’m going to give you the attention you deserve, give you all of my love, call you beautiful, and treat you like a princess.”

“Aw, Frank!” She leans in and kisses me on my cheek. “But why settle for a princess when you can have a queen? That way, I get to treat you like a king.”

“Is that so? Well in that case, I would like to treat you, my queen, to a little late Valentine’s Day present.” I go into the pocket of my jacket and take out a box. “Happy late Valentine’s Day,” I say, holding it out for her.

Jenny smiles and takes the gift. She opens the box and gasps in delight. Inside is a gold locket necklace. The pendant is shaped as a heart with the words ‘Key to my Heart’ engraved on it, and inside the locket is a tiny key. “Oh Frank! I love it.”

“Let me put it on.” I take out the necklace as Jenny spins around. I put the necklace on her – and I just can’t help myself as I lean down and start to nuzzle and kiss the nape of her neck while I wrap my arms around her waist.

“Frank…” Jenny sighs, and then shivers. “What are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing,” I sensually whisper in her ear, and then lick and nibble on the earlobe while pressing my groin against her bottom. Jenny starts to squirm. “Don’t try to resist, darling – I know how much you like it.”

“Yeah, but… You can’t, not here…” She tries to tell me but a moan escapes her lush lips. She leans into me and her body begins rocking, pelvis thrusting slightly. “We have to stop…”

“Why?” I ask, nipping at her shoulder.

“Someone could be watching,” she answers.

“So? Let them watch,” I respond as I plant tender kisses on the side of her neck and then suck on it.

“Honestly, Frank. Sometimes you can be so… incorrigible…”

“Mmm. But you love it, though.”

“Yes, I do. I really do.” Jenny turns to face me and caresses my face. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too, beautiful,” I say, stroking her back. I kiss her and she kisses me back, moaning with pleasure in response. When we finally break the loving kiss, Sade’s ‘Your Love Is King’ begins to play.

“The perfect song,” Jenny says. She holds out her hand. “So how about it, Your Majesty? Shall we dance?”

I smile and grab her hand. “Yes, my queen, let’s,” I reply, and we head for the dance floor, where we join Oscar and Carrie and Rose and Zeke who started slow-dancing with each other. I pull Jenny close while she holds me tight, and we dance cheek to cheek, while swaying to the music.


	51. The Ageless Care Spa

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It’s another day and another mission for me and the MI High team. We’re at the Cliff Hotel and Spa in Cardigan, in Wales, where a source have told us that SKUL are planning to steal a special youth treatment. Why they want the formula is anyone’s guess but the team and I are assigned to stop them. Oscar and I are disguised as pool boys (with me disguised with a fake moustache) and Rose and Carrie are disguised as the gardeners.

Oscar and I are busy sweeping near the pool when a woman screaming at the top of her lungs startles us. “I demand to see Madame LeClère! I want to see her _right now_!”

Everybody in and around the pool area looks up to see an eerily pale-skinned woman dressed in a black leather trench with a short red dress underneath, a houndstooth scarf, black leather ankle boots, dark glasses, silver hoop earrings and black fedora making her way to the hotel.

“I think we may have found our SKUL agent,” I whisper to Oscar. He nods in response.

One of the spa staff members – a tall, red-haired woman – approaches the woman. “Can I help you, miss?” she asks.

“My name is Ada Greer,” the demanding woman replies, “and I want to Madame LeClère immediately!”

“Very well, Miss Greer. If you care to follow me, I’ll take you to her office.”

As the two women walk inside, Oscar pushes back a section of the broom’s handle, revealing a hidden microphone inside.

“The SKUL agent has entered the building,” he reports to Frank who is back in HQ in London.

“Roger that, Oscar,” says Frank. “Be careful when approaching them – they could be armed.”

“Ten-four.” Oscar puts the broom handle back in in place. “Let’s go,” he tells me.

We set our brooms aside and make out way to the back of the hotel. We head up the two long flights of stairs of the fire escape, walk across the platform to a door. This is no handle to open the door – must be one of those push-bar door –  so I reach into my pocket and take out my Laser Lipstick. I remove the lid and use the device to cut through the hinges. When I’m finished, Oscar and I pull the door away from the frame and set it aside, and then enter the hotel.

We go down the corridor towards the manager’s office, creeping past the rows of doors. There are no cleaners on this floor – but it won’t be long before someone comes out and sees the fire exit door off its hinges. The only sound comes from our shoes sliding over the carpet as Oscar and I stay close to the walls and turn the corner.

A gold-plated sign at the door reads MADAME FANNY LECLÈRE. Oscar and I glide towards the door. We can hear Madame LeClère and Greer having a screaming match and trading insults.

“Ladies, ladies, control yourselves!” a male voice intervenes, trying to defuse the situation. “May I remind you two that both parties had agreed to look the other’s youth treatment formulas?”

After a second or two of silence, the rustling sound of papers can be heard.

“My formula has been in my family’s keep for generations,” Madame LeClère says with a French accent.

“I’m sure it has,” Greer replies. “Here’s the formula.”

There is a little silence.

“I do not understand,” says Madame LeClère. “Where is the formula you promised me?”

I hear the SKUL agent laugh. “You stupid woman,” she says. “There is no formula. That was just a ruse to get you to hand yours over. And now that you have… you are of no use to me.”

“It’s time to make our entrance,” I tell Oscar. We use our watches to change into our spy outfits and burst through the door. Greer has removed her fedora, revealing her light brown hair that falls down her back. Her sunglasses are gone, too, revealing her pale blue eyes.

“You may have to eat your own threat!” Oscar cautions the woman.

“Eat _this_!” she yells, spinning around. She has a gun in her hand!

“Get down!” I yell, moments before Greer shoots. Oscar and I dive to the ground and crawl to the sofa. We stay on our stomachs and cover our heads as the SKUL agent fires into the sofa and neither of us move until the pistol is emptied of all sixteen rounds. I peek from behind the sofa and see Madame LeClère leaping across the desk to get her formula back from Greer. However the French woman is knocked out by the barrel of a gun wielded by the SKUL agent.

“Madame LeClère!” the man cries, crawling over to her while Greer uses a chair to smash the window – and then jumps through it!

Oscar and I head for the window and see the SKUL agent land safely on the ground – using her scarf as a parachute! Talk about improvisation.

“Let’s go, Oscar!” I say. We jump out of the window – and land with a bounce, thanks to the Spring-Equipped Shoes we were given before the mission, and we chase after Greer.

As we approach the pool area, two SKUL agents burst out from a shrubbery, stopping us in our tracks. They bring out their guns and point them at us, causing the people who are in and around the pool to scatter, screaming.

“It’s the end of the line for you two meddling brats!” says one of the agents with an evil grin. And before the SKUL agents can shoot us, a forceful shot of water blasts the agents into the pool.

“Huh?” Oscar and I say confused, as we watch the henchmen come to the surface, coughing and spluttering, wondering what happened themselves.

“Ahem!”

We turn to see Carrie holding a fire hose. “Those two looked like they needed cooling down,” she says with a smile.

I give a chuckle at her comment. “Thanks, Carrie.”

“No problem. You two better get after that SKUL agent as Rose is going after her by herself, while I’ll stay here and call MI9 to pick up those two knuckleheads.”

“Thanks again, Carrie,” says Oscar, and we take off again.

We run across the golf course where we can see several yards up the green Rose chasing after Greer.

“There’s no way we’ll reach her in time!” Oscar pants.

“Not if we use the Spring-Equipped Shoes we will,” I reply. We activate the shoes and we start to jump and bounce across the golf course. We manage to reach Rose and Greer in no time, which is fortunate because Greer has hit a dead end – she is cornered by Rose at the edge of a cliff.

Oscar and I stop bouncing and rush over to Rose’s side. “There’s nowhere to go,” she says. “So how about making this easy by coming quietly, OK?”

Greer looks down the cliff and then to me, Rose and Oscar. With a smirk on her face, she leaps off the cliff.

“No!” I exclaim, with Rose gasping and Oscar too stunned by what he saw. The SKUL agent would rather die than be arrested.

The three of us head to the spot where Greer jumped off – and take a few steps back as we get the shock of our lives. A large commercial snowmobile fitted with anti-gravitational technology is hovering up, with a strange-looking man with long, greasy brown hair, and shabby and untidy facial hair, wearing baggy grey trousers and a loose-fitting khaki jacket with a white-stained shirt underneath, leaning over the handlebars. And sitting behind him with their arms wrapped around his waist is… SKUL Agent Greer!

Talk about a well-timed leap.

“I don’t believe it! She’s alive!” Rose exclaims.

“No way!” Oscar gasps.

“Greer must have had this set up when she arrived here,” I deduce. “She’s been one step ahead of us the whole time.”

Upon seeing the look on our faces, the scruffy-looking rider tosses his head and smirks while Greer pulls down one lower eyelid and sticks out her tongue, saying, “Nyaaaah!” (Real bloody mature) as she and the mystery mangy rider zoom off through the skies on their hover snowmobile – along with the youth treatment formula.

“Great,” Oscar says sarcastically. “We lost the formula and the SKUL agent.”

“Stark isn’t going to be happy about this,” says Rose.

“Well, Stark can kiss my grits,” I say. “Let’s see him try and go after a gun-toting, formula-stealing lunatic and her hover snowmobile-driving, hobo boyfriend.”

The sound of sirens cuts through the air.

“Looks like we’ve outstayed our welcome,” I say. “Let’s get Carrie and get out of here – there’s nothing more we can do now.”

Before anyone can move, I can see a helicopter appearing from behind the hotel. It’s black, a lightweight, twin-engine aircraft. The helicopter is an AgustaWestland AW109. I can feel the wind pick up as the helicopter makes its descent on the golf course and just as it touches down, the door slides open and Carrie, wearing a headset and sunglasses, is waving at us.

“Wow. MI9 don’t waste any time,” I say, amazed by how quickly they responded to Carrie’s call. “Let’s go, guys!”

The three of us run across the course and towards the helicopter. Carrie puts out her hand to help Rose in, then me, then Oscar. We fall into our seats, the two SKUL henchmen behind us in handcuffs, along with an MI9 agent sitting between them, and I pull the door shut and put on my own headset as the pilot rises back into the sky and takes us back to London.

**(Frank’s POV)**

Stark and I are standing on the roof of Thames House, waiting for the team to arrive. I received a text from Jen saying that the SKUL agent escaped with the youth treatment formula. When I told Stark, he went into his usual rant about how ineffective the team are in letting the agent get away. I just rolled my eyes and continue to wait for the others.

But it’s not all bad news – less than an hour ago, a package arrived at HQ containing a DVD and a note saying that there’s a connection to Madame LeClère’s youth formula and SKUL. Stark and I watched the DVD – it’s an advertisement for a business called the Ageless Care Spa. The advert features celebrities who, according to the note, are endorsing the spa for free and is a subsidiary of a company called Frontier Corporation – a mundane front for SKUL.

But I’m still unsure about their motives.

“Oh, where _are_ they?” says Stark, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time. “They should be here by now. Who knows what SKUL will do now that they got the formula.”

“I’m sure they’ll be here,” I tell him – and right on cue, a helicopter swings round over our heads, its blades beating at the air. Four ropes drop from the aircraft, and the team descend from the helicopter to the ground.

“Hi!” says Jenny, coming up to me and Stark. “And I know that the rappelling from the helicopter looked impractical and unnecessary, but at the same time it’s a much more fun way to make an entrance.”

“And she’s right – it was awesome,” says Carrie, with Rose and Oscar nodding in agreement.

Stark rolls his eyes like he’s having some kind of stroke. “Whatever,” he sighs. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Whatever,” Jenny mouths, forming the letter ‘W’ using the thumb and forefinger of both of her hands, the minute Stark’s back is turned, which makes me smile. I put my arm around her shoulders and along with the team; the five of us follow Stark back into the building.

We go into one of the offices, where the commercial DVD is sitting on the table. The team take a seat while Stark and I stand in front of the flat screen TV.

“Team,” I begin, “while you were in Wales on your assignment, a DVD arrived at HQ relating the connection to SKUL and the youth formula that they stole. This advert will explain.”

Stark slips the disc into the DVD player and plays the advert for the Ageless Care Spa.

“Hey, that’s Jasmine Allen – the hottest and most popular actress on the block,” says Jenny, when she sees the attractive woman with blonde hair and fair complexion.

“And that’s Maddock Maddocks,” says Oscar upon seeing the tall, muscular man with broad shoulders and dark hair. “He’s captain of the London Welsh Rugby Football Club – and the highest paid player in history of the sport.”

“Not to mention the most handsome,” Carrie adds, causing Rose to shake her head.

When the advert finishes, Stark switches off the screen. “We have reason to believe that those two celebrities are promoting the Ageless Care Spa for free and the spa is part of a company called Frontier Corporation,” he explains.

“An obvious business front by SKUL,” says Carrie. “But it still doesn’t explain why they want a youth treatment formula.”

“Maybe they’ll do what they did before when they got together with Vanessa Zeitgeist,” says Rose. “Instead of renewing looks, the formula will regress the mind, causing people to revert to children, giving SKUL the means to go ahead with any evil schemes, with no-one stopping them.”

“Well if that’s the cause, we should launch an assault on the spa and steal the formula back,” Jenny suggests.

“We could… but unfortunately, Agent Brownstone, you’re not in charge of this mission,” Stark says. Then he adds with a murmur, “Thank goodness.”

“I heard that!” she yells, jumping to her feet.

“Now let’s all calm down,” I say, acting as peacemaker. “I think rather than assaulting the spa or each other” – I glance to Jenny and Stark – “we should talk to the people who starred in the advert, asking why they endorsed the spa for free.”

“Fine by me. The team and I will talk to Jasmine Allen while you and Stark visit Maddock Maddocks.”

“Actually, Jen, we have to return to school. Lunchtime is nearly over,” says Oscar, looking at his watch.

“Sorry,” says Carrie.

“That’s OK. Education comes first. I’ll just have to see Miss Allen by myself,” says Jenny. “Let me drop you lot off.”

The four of them leave the office, leaving just me and Stark.

“Come on, London, let’s set off to see Mr. Maddocks,” he says. As he leaves, he adds, “And maybe on the way to seeing him, you might want to think of a way to maintain some kind of control on that loud and reckless girlfriend of yours.”

I give Stark a cold glare, but I follow him out of the office and down the corridor.

One of these days, he’s gonna get what’s coming to him.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I arrive at Pinewood Studios in Buckinghamshire after dropping off Oscar, Rose and Carrie at St Hope’s. Zeke is also with me. I was about to call him to get Jasmine Allen’s location when I spotted him on our way out of HQ. Upon seeing Rose, he decided to tag along and spend the first part of the journey flirting with her. After I dropped the team off I asked if he wanted to get back to MI9 to continue his research and gadget building, but he declined and said that he wanted to hang with me as it’s been a while since we last did that – and he always wanted to see me in action. I explained to him the mission that is happening, how the team and I were in Wales to stop a SKUL agent from getting their hands on the youth treatment formula – and failed – how Stark continues to be a pain in the arse, how two celebrities are endorsing a spa under a false business for free and how I was on my way to asking Zeke to get me the location of Allen so I could have a talk with her. And typical of Zeke, he hacks into the actress’s Twitter account to get her location based on her last tweet, which is Pinewood Studios.

When we reach the checkpoint, Zeke and I flash our MI9 keycards at the uniformed security guard and ask where Allen is. After the guard tells us, he lets us through. Zeke and I gaze in awe as we drive through the famous studio, watching actors, directors, production crew and extras go about their business. This is one of the many reasons I love being a spy – going to all the really cool places you never thought you could get into as a regular person.

We stop at the 007 Stage of Pinewood where Allen is in the middle of filming for an upcoming movie called _Rogahq Wilderness_. “OK, this is the place,” I say. “But before we go, let me change into something that makes me look a little less conspicuous.”

I use my watch-communicator to change into an outfit that’s casual yet trendy at the same time. Dark jeans, a smart black blazer with a hot pink sleeveless shirt underneath and stylish black boots show I’m ready for business – and the sunglasses are perfect for sleuthing.

“Now I’m ready,” I say. “Let’s roll.”

Zeke and I jump out of the car and make our way to the stage. When we approach security, we flash our keycards and we’re gained entry. What we see makes us gasp in amazement!

It’s pandemonium! Actors are pacing up and down practising their lines, production crew rushing back and forth with props, and costumes and wigs being tried and exchanged in every corner. The set looks like the Amazon – the grassy veldts and savannahs, and the thick, treacherous jungle. There are also animals on the set – snakes, monkeys and apes, colourful birds… even elephants!

“No words… can describe… the experience… of being… at on a real live movie set,” Zeke says in an awed whisper. “It’s… unbe-credi-tastic.”

“That’s not even a word,” I whisper back. “Anyway, we’re not here for a film tour. We’re here to speak to Jasmine… oh, my God, is that Alexander Skarsgård?”

I stare open-mouthed and wonderstruck as the handsome actor walks past, talking to one of the production team. But I’m drooling in wonderstruck as Alexander is wearing a leopard skin loincloth and no shirt. His chest is sculpted, his abs is toned and his stomach is firm. If I was a cartoon character, a heart symbol will be pounding out of my chest.

“Wow,” I sigh dreamily. “He is fabu-hunka-gorgeous.”

“That’s not even a word,” Zeke says in a teasing voice – but I’m barely listening as I’m too busy wondering if there’s anything underneath the loincloth.

“Excuse me!” says a voice, bringing me out of my daydream. We turn to face a woman with short raven hair and blue eyes. “This set is for film crew and cast. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

“And we will – after we’ve spoken to Jasmine Allen,” I say, flashing my MI9 keycard. “If you would could you take us to her?”

After examining our keycards thoroughly, the woman leads me and Zeke across the jungle set to an African village set, where Allen is. I spot the actress having her makeup done up by a stylist. Allen is on the petite side, and slender – if not a bit chubby. She is fair-skinned, and has a rosy glow to her cheeks rather than being eerily pale. Her complexion can be described as peachy pale or porcelain-like. Her blonde hair is in a tall up-do (when I saw her in the advert her hair is long and wavy, resting at the waist), and she has pouty, pink lips. She has gentle, blue eyes that are almond-shaped rather than cat-like. She’s the definition of an English Rose.

She’s wearing a dress that is made of leopard skin fur (I’m hoping it’s fake), resembling a bikini and looks like it’s handmade due to the torn edges, and her body is covered in ceremonial paint. She has a little golden crown resting on a white skull in her hair. She also has golden bracelets on her wrists, the upper parts of her arms, the lower part of her right leg, and the upper part of her left leg.

Before Zeke and I can get nearer to Allen, the raven-haired woman stops us and tells us to wait. She goes over to the actress and whispers in her ear and points at us. Allen looks up at us. She waves away the raven woman and the stylist, and makes her way over to us.

“I hear that you wanted to speak to me,” she says.

“That’s right, Miss Allen,” I say. “We’re from MI9. I’m Agent Brownstone and that’s Agent Williams,” – I nod to Zeke.

“Hi,” he says. “Even though I’m just hearing about you now, can I just say that I am your biggest fan?”

Allen smiles sweetly at Zeke, baring her perfect, dazzling white teeth. “Aw, that’s very kind of you. But from what my assistant told me, you two are not here just for an autograph.”

“No, we are not,” I say. “We’re here to ask you about the recent advert you did for the Ageless Care Spa.”

The smile is soon wiped off Allen’s face. “What about it?” she asks.

“I was wondering why you would promote the spa for free. You’re a very popular actress – as well as the highest earning within the last six months. You would think that doing an advert with your status you would be asking for something that’s in the six or seven figure category.”

There is a long pause.

“I don’t need to give you a reason about why I endorsed the spa for free,” Allen tells me, narrowing her eyes. “I think we’re done here – I’m needed on set.” And with that, the blonde-haired actress turns and leaves.

“Well… that went well,” says Zeke after a brief silence. “So what do we do now?”

“We have two options,” I say. “We could either go home and let Stark curse and rant about why we let some titchy actress not answer our questions and he annoys me so much I will punch him into the middle of next week. Or we stay here and not move until the titchy actress answers our questions.”

“Hmm. I like option two better.”

“Yes, I thought you would. So that’s the plan – we are staying put until we get some answers.”

And just as I say these words, a shrill, high-pitched whistle pierces through the air. The sound causes the animals to act wild by giving a loud, harsh, piercing cry. Screams start to echo right round the room as the ground starts to rumble. We turn – and my eyes widen in horror as a group of elephants are rushing forward towards us!

“Oh, my God!” Zeke screams.

I look around to see where we can go to avoid being crushed. I spot a large prop made of wooden scaffolds. “Come on!” I say, grabbing Zeke’s wrist and we start running to the prop. We climb up the scaffold, avoiding the stampeding elephants. But the herd damage the side of the prop and we lose our balance and fall from the prop.

“AAARGH!” we scream – and stop when we land on… something soft?

“Huh?” I say, confused. I stare at the stuff that saved me from being splattered. “Hay?”

It seems that a perfectly parked truck filled with hay softened me and Zeke’s fall.

“Well, that was lucky,” I say, carefully pulling the straw from my hair.

Screams and cries can be heard outside as the elephants have smashed through the walls of the stage and are continuing their rampage across various sets.

“Oh, God, Jen, what do we do?” says Zeke. “We need to stop them before someone gets squished!”

It’s there that I see a box of flash grenades. I hop of the back of the truck, rush over to the box and pick up a couple. “These will brighten their day!” I say. “Let’s go, Zeke!”

He jumps off the truck and we hurry out of the set and towards the car. I toss Zeke the keys before we pile into the car, slamming the doors. After he starts up the engine, Zeke slams his foot down on the pedal. The car takes off with a lurch as we pursue the elephants, following the path destruction and the screams.

Even though Zeke is driving like a speed demon, he seems fierce and focused, and in total control. I suppose he’s done this a million times before given the amount of time he spends playing car-related video games. And it seems that his crazy driving has paid off as we turn a corner and spot the herd of elephants.

“There they are!” I yell. “But we’re still far away. You need to put the pedal to the metal, Zeke!”

“You got it!” he replies. He floors it and we head full speed towards the herd. We’re tailing behind them until we’re right alongside – but not too close.

“Get ready to throw, Jen!” Zeke shouts.

I wind down the window and climb out to perch myself on the car window, praying that I don’t fall out, while Zeke keeps the vehicle under control. I take out the two flash grenades from my blazer pocket. I hope I don’t miss…

I hurl the first grenade – then the second. They reach the front of the herd, and the blinding flash of light and intensely loud noise directs the elephants away from a commissary and into set number nine, where an Old West film called _The Tumbleweed of the Locket_ is interrupted. (The screaming cowboys and saloon girls running out of the set gave it away.)

I grip for dear life as Zeke hits the brakes, cutting the wheel hard to avoid hitting the commissary in front of us. I mentally sigh in relief that I’m alive. We climb out of the car and sprint to set number nine. When we reach it, we push the door, sliding it shut and trapping the elephants.

Soon the screams are replaced by cheers and applause. Zeke and I have saved Pinewood from ruin. We collapse to the ground, exhausted.

“Boy, that was close,” I pant. I pat Zeke on the shoulder. “Nice driving there, Lewis Hamilton.”

“Thanks,” he replies breathlessly. “And congrats on a well-aimed throw, insert famous sportsperson who has a well-aimed throw.”

“Jessica Ennis-Hill – javelin.”

We let out tired laughs – but it’s soon replaced by disdain as speeding past us in their flashy red sports car… is Jasmine Allen.

“Damn. She got away,” I murmur. “That’s the second person who has done that today.”

“She must have been the one who blew the whistle and caused the elephants to stampede,” Zeke deduces. “It’s obvious that she knows something.”

“Maybe that’s why she promoted the spa for free – so SKUL can pay her to keep her mouth shut. That’s why she got all antsy. Anyway, since our suspect has got away, we’ll have to leave empty-handed – again. Come on – let’s head back.”

Zeke and I get back on our feet and walk back to the car. We climb back in, with me sliding behind the wheel. Zeke hands me back the keys and I start up the car, and we head out of Pinewood and start the return journey to London.

I just hope Frank and Stark are doing much better than we did.

**(Frank’s POV)**

Stark and I arrive at Old Deer Park in Richmond, home of the London Welsh Rugby Football Club, where it’s said that Maddock Maddocks is practising for an upcoming game.

We jump out of the car, remembering the parking spot, and head for the stadium. When we reach security, Stark and I flash our MI9 keycards, and we are instantly let through. We are greeted at the sight of fifteen players having a practise session.

“All right – let’s get this thing over and done with,” says Stark.

“Shouldn’t we wait until they’ve finished their session?” I ask.

“Oh sure, I’ll wait. And by that time, the Grandmaster would have turned Parliament into a giant crèche! Now I’m in charge of this mission and if I say that we’re gonna talk to Maddocks, then that’s what we’re gonna do. In fact, as I’m in charge of this mission, how about you stay here while _I_ talk to Maddocks?”

I take a step back. “Be my guest,” I say, holding up my hand as if surrendering, and taking another step back. I watch as Stark walks towards the pitch. There is no point in reasoning with him because he is too conceited and arrogant to listen. And seeing him walk onto the pitch to confront a rugby player and his fourteen teammates’ means it’s not going to end well.

“ _Excuse me!_ ” Stark says in a loud voice, stopping the players’ practise. “I was wondering if I could speak to Maddock Maddocks.”

One of the players steps forward, towering over Stark. Maddocks is a lot taller than when I saw him on the DVD – and a lot muscular, too. He has the build of a comic book superhero – sculpted chest, broad shoulders, narrow waist and washboard abs.

“I’m Maddock Maddocks,” he says with a faint but recognizable Welsh lilt. “What do you want?”

I can see that Stark is looking a bit nervous, but he soldiers on. “Ahem, yes. My name is Chief Agent Horatio Stark. I’m from MI9,” he says. “I was wondering if I could talk to you in private.”

“Hmmmm, no, I don’t think so. You don’t come onto my rugby pitch and interrupt my practise session to ask if you want to talk to me in private. So, whatever you got to say to me, you can say it right here, right now.”

A smile flickers around my mouth as I watch Stark tremble with fear by a six-foot-four, top heavy man. It’s about time someone brought Stark down a peg or two. I can’t help but dig into my pocket, take out my phone and start to record the events that are unfolding.

“Yes, well,” Stark stammers. “I was… I was wondering why…”

“Spit it out, mate, I ain’t got all day,” Maddocks demands.

“I was wondering why… why you refused payment for endorsing the Ageless Care Spa in an advertisement.”

There’s a pause.

“So let me get this straight,” says Maddocks. “You come onto my pitch to interrupt my practise session to ask why I refused payment for a commercial.”

Stark nods as he’s too scared to answer.

There’s a moment of silence.

Just then, Maddocks’ mouth twists into a sneer. “Sure, I’ll tell you,” he says. “Just let me have a talk with the team for a moment.”

Maddocks and his team gather in a huddle, talking about something-or-other. Just what exactly are they planning?

After a minute goes by, the rugby players’ grunt in approval as they move away and Maddocks is holding a rugby ball in his hands. Then he takes a few running steps back. “Hey, Stark – catch!” he shouts, throwing the ball before Stark can protest.

Stark runs across the pitch – and manages to catch the toss. “I did it! I caught it!” he shouts happily to me. Then he looks up and is horrified as he watches the other players rushing forward to tackle him.

“Aaagh!” screams Stark. He starts running, but he’s not fast enough to outrun fifteen rugby players as one of them tackles Stark to the ground – followed immediately by the other players piling on top!

I throw a hand over my mouth, stopping the laugh about to escape as the players get up and Stark is lying squashed flat on the ground like a cartoon character after they’ve been run over by a steamroller.

“Unnnh…!” he wheezes out.

I can’t help but let out a chuckle. Jen will definitely love this.

Suddenly, a whistle gets my attention.

It’s Maddocks.

“Oi, you,” he starts. “I assume that you work with this joker. I suggest that you and he sling your hooks right now before you’ll get more than just a tackle.”

I have no qualms in arguing with a big, muscular man and his team, so I shut my phone and rush over to Stark. I take his arm and put it around my shoulder, and then I pull him to his feet. I put my arm around his waist and lead him off the pitch and out of the park. When we get to the car, I gently lay Stark across the back seat. I reach into his pocket to get the keys and hop into the driver’s seat. After starting up the car, I back out and head towards the nearest hospital.

xxoOoxx

After I dropped Stark off at the hospital, I return to St Hope’s and call on the team to stop by after school. And immediately after that, I send the video of Stark getting tackled and flattened by the London Welsh rugby players to their phones. By the time they’ve arrived, they all entered HQ in fits of laughter.

And ten minutes later, they’re still laughing.

“Hahahaha! Oh, my God, this is hilarious!” Jenny exclaims after she watches the footage for the sixth time in a row. “I can’t believe you got this on film. You are the absolute best!”

I grin. “Thanks,” I reply.

“I can this video over and over again and never get tired of it,” says Rose.

“Neither can I. I especially love the wheezing bit at the end. He sounds like Loki after the Hulk threw him around like a ragdoll in _Avengers Assemble_ ,” says Zeke. “I’m gonna email this to everybody in MI9.”

“I’m gonna upload it to YouTube,” Oscar announces.

“I’m gonna send this to _You’ve Been Framed!_ ,” Carrie declares. “£250, here I come.”

“And you can do all that after we’re finished with our mission,” I say. “Now as I was saying, Stark received numerous injuries after being tackled – including a concussion, fractured bones, dislocated fingers and elbows, cuts, sprained ligaments, and muscles and deep muscle bruises. So while he’s recovering, I’m in charge.”

“Looks like we had a lucky escape then, Zeke,” Jenny says. “We could have been the ones who could have been flattened like pancakes by rugby players while Frank and Stark could’ve been chasing after a herd of elephants on a movie set.”

“Ah, what? You were on a movie set?” Carrie says, disappointed. “I sat through boring double English with Mrs King while you and Zeke were brushing shoulders with celebrities.”

“And chasing elephants, Carrie – don’t forget that,” Jenny adds. “Also, you don’t find my lesson that boring, do you?”

“Only when Mrs King or any other teacher is covering for you.”

“Er, guys? Can you focus, please?” I say.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, Frank,” says Jenny. “Anyway, it’s obvious that Allen is hiding something, which is why she distracted us by causing the elephants to run rampage so she can escape.”

“And I have no idea where she is,” says Zeke “She hasn’t been on any of her social networking sites for the last few hours. She’s made some calls – and I’ve got the feeling that it’s to SKUL because I couldn’t for the life of me trace that call. So either I’m getting sloppy or SKUL’s tech is getting better.”

“So we’ve got one aggressive rugby player and an AWOL actress who are not talking,” says Rose. “So what now?”

“We take the direct approach – we visit the spa,” I say. “While Stark and I were on our way to see Maddocks, I sent a text to an agent in MI9 who owes me a favour to watch the spa – and he’s reported that Maddocks and Allen work out there. As tomorrow is a Saturday, I’m hoping no-one has plans; because I’ve booked an appointment with the spa so we can go there to investigate without arousing suspicion.”

“Ooh, I always wanted to go to a spa!” Jenny says excitedly, clapping. “I can definitely do with some R&R.”

“And it’ll be nice to get myself all pampered up,” Carrie adds.

“Even though this is my first mission as a field agent, it’s the best one ever!” says Zeke.

As the three get giddy with excitement, Rose, Oscar and I watch in bewilderment.

“I think that’s English for they don’t have plans tomorrow,” says Rose. “And neither do me or Oscar.”

He nods in agreement.

“Right, it’s settled,” I say. “We’ll meet outside Knightsbridge tube station tomorrow at noon and head to the spa together. That’s it for today – you’re dismissed.”

And with that, we exit HQ and out of the school, with Rose, Oscar and Carrie going in one direction and me, Jenny and Zeke going the opposite as we get ready for tomorrow.


	52. Old Memories and Young Hopes

**(Frank’s POV)**

The next day, Jenny and I meet up with the team outside Knightsbridge station, and we wait for Zeke to arrive. When he does come, the six of us make the short walk to the Ageless Care Spa.

“Wow… Look at all these cars,” says Carrie as we pass a number of them.

“Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Lamborghinis,” says Oscar. “It’s a life-sized, luxury collection of Matchbox Cars.”

“Well, that’s Millionaires’ Row for you,” says Jenny. “Besides, we’re not here to ogle at cars like Jeremy Clarkson; we’re here to investigate the spa.”

“And speaking of which, here we are,” I say, stopping outside the building. “Now remember to be on full alert, keep all communications open and beware of anything suspicious-looking.”

Everyone nods, and we enter the spa. We’re greeted by two women at the reception area to confirm our appointments. Afterwards one of the women, with shiny auburn hair and called Flora on her name label, gives us all white bath robes and matching slippers.

“Welcome to the Ageless Care Spa. My name is Adelaide – I’m one of the instructors,” says the other woman. She has clear, pale skin, blue eyes, and long black hair. She reminds me of a porcelain doll. She’s dressed in an all-black uniform: tunic, cropped trousers, and flat shoes.

“We’re here to improve your health, beauty and relaxation during your time here,” she continues. “Our treatments include body massage, foot massage, facials, waxing, microdermabrasion, body treatments, manicures, pedicures, aromatherapy, moxibustion, ear candling, and guasha.”

“Oooh!” squeals Carrie in excitement. “I wanna try them all!”

“Me too!” Jenny joins in.

Adelaide rings the bell on the reception table and a muscular, swarthy and light-haired man appears from the door behind the reception table.

“Hans will take care of you,” she says. She turns to him. “Take them to the treatment room.”

He nods and leads the giggling Jenny and Carrie to the room.

“If the day spa is not for you, we offer a comprehensive program, such as yoga, Tai Chi physical fitness activities, wellness education, healthy cuisine and life coaching,” Adelaide informs us.

“I would like to know about the instruction on wellness,” says Rose.

“I would, too,” says Oscar. “As well as focus on mind and body with Tai Chi.”

The bell rings again and a curvy, dark-skinned woman with short cropped hair appears.

“Monique will take you where you need to be,” Adelaide tells Rose and Oscar. “If you would like to follow her.”

It’s just me and Zeke.

“As for you two gentlemen… I see you’re more into relaxation,” the raven-haired woman says. “Follow me.”

Zeke and I follow Adelaide across the spa, pass the gym and through the maze of rooms, passing people wearing white bath robes, until we reach the facilities where the pool, hot tub, Jacuzzi, and whirlpool are. The air is warm and smells of chloride, the water is brilliant, sparkling blue and the sound of calm, tranquil music fills the air.

“The changing rooms and lockers are to your left,” Adelaide tells us. “Enjoy.”

The raven woman makes her exit, leaving me and Zeke.

“Right,” says Zeke. “Well, you heard the woman – let’s get changed into our trunks, hit the pool and enjoy ourselves.”

We head into the changing rooms where an attendant hands us keys to our lockers. There’s a group of men in the changing rooms – some are talking to their friends while they’re either changing or dressing, while others are in the showers.

When I reach my locker, I turn my back to take off my clothes and change into dark blue swim shorts with white side stripes. I stow my clothes in the locker and slip on my slippers and put on my bath robe. When I turn back round, Zeke is already in his robe, and without his glasses. He’s wearing an orange swimming hat and swimming goggles above his eyes.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod, and the two of us head out of the changing room and into the pool area where we find two empty sun loungers. I take off my robe on place it on the chair, and Zeke does the same. He’s wearing orange swimming trunks that complement his skin, but all I can focus on is his body. For someone who spends all day sitting at the computer and inventing gadgets, I thought Zeke would be skinny and fragile. But instead he’s lean and athletic, like an Olympic swimmer, with a smooth chiselled chest and washboard abs.

Zeke looks back at me, and smiles. “Like what you see, cutie?” he asks huskily, winking at me.

“What?! Erm… I-I didn’t… I-I-I mean, I wasn’t…” I stammer, feeling my cheeks burning.

“Frank, relax – I’m kidding,” Zeke tells me. “I know why you were staring – Jen was the exact same way. Every morning before I go to work, I run to the local baths and swim laps for two hours. I’ve doing it since I was eight, and it’s the only time I have to myself that doesn’t involve me being in front the computer all day or have my head in the books.”

“Huh. OK,” I say, calming down.

“Just because I spend most days on my arse doesn’t mean I’m lazy. I enjoy kicking back as much as the next person. Now less talk, more swim.” And with that, Zeke snaps the goggles over his eyes, dives in – despite being a spa pool with a sign that says, ‘No diving in the pool’ – and swims away, his arms smoothly dipping through the water, his pointed feet kicking.

I, however, don’t dive in. Instead I sit on the edge and slide into the sparkling turquoise water. It’s beautifully warm. I swim two fast and furious laps and when I get back to where I slid I can feel my muscles tensing up. It’s been forever since I last went swimming. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Zeke’s book and go to my local swimming pool for an early morning session before I go to St Hope’s.

So I swim off again – ploughing backwards and forwards, ten lengths breaststroke, ten lengths freestyle, ten lengths backstroke. Then repeat. Thank goodness I’m quite good at swimming so I don’t look too stupid. Some of the people in the pool are faster than me but I’m quicker than some others – apart from Zeke.

We’re about even-steven and we find we can’t help racing each other. First he steams ahead so I concentrate fiercely and push myself that little bit harder so I’m gasping every time I take a breath. I draw closer, closer – and then I’m suddenly in front, and I whizz off even faster, but it’s hard to keep it up. I’m slower the next lap, floating a little, and Zeke suddenly flashes past.

We carry on this mad competition and end up neck and neck, laughing at each other.

“I think that’s enough swimming for one day. Let’s take a breather,” says Zeke.

“OK,” I say, scarcely able to draw breath.

We swim out of the pool and dry ourselves with our robes. When we’re done, Zeke spots the hot tub which is currently vacant and goes over to it, with me following. He drops his robe on the edge of the tub and climbs in. I do the same.

“Oh, my God, this feels _so-o-o_ good,” says Zeke, whipping off his swimming hat and leaning back against the tub.

And he’s not wrong – this is really relaxing as I find myself closing my eyes and sinking into the succulent water.

I hear Zeke letting out a luxurious sigh. “Oh, man, if this spa wasn’t being operated by an evil organization I would be coming here every weekend. Hell, I’ll probably live here – I could buy this building and spend the rest of my days here. I mean I do come from a wealthy family.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, opening my eyes, turning to him.

“Ah yes, I should have told you this before. Here goes.” Zeke takes a deep breath. “My parents, are both brilliant scientists… they are also the founders, owners, and Managing Directors of KLAST – the Kingston Laboratory for Advanced Science and Technology.”

I gape at Zeke. I never knew that he is the son of the parents who founded the multi-billion pound research and development facility, KLAST – a nationwide chain of research laboratories unconnected to the government or any business interests. They succeeded not only on a national scale, but an international one as well, currently maintaining facilities in Canada, Europe, Australia, Japan, and the United States, as well as in the UK with the total number of facilities numbering between twenty and thirty at last recorded count, according to an article I read a few years ago.

And come to think of it, I vaguely remember Jenny mentioning Denzel and Carmen – when Zeke broke into MI9 to rescue her. But I never pieced together that they were his parents. This also explains how he can afford the resources to build his gadgets and the lab under his house.

I must have been staring at Zeke for too long because he waves a hand in front of my face, making me jump.

“Earth to Frank!” he says. “You OK, man?”

“Yeah, sorry. Sorry about that,” I say. “It’s just… I never knew you were the son of the smartest and wealthiest people in the UK.”

“Not a lot of people do – other than you, Jen and Director Fairchild,” says Zeke. “I don’t want people to be friends with me just because I have rich parents, live in a big house and have fancy cars. I want them to be friends with me because I’m funny, smart, and an all-round good guy who can get you tickets to any concert or A-list party of your choosing via hacking.”

“Well, you’re lucky that you have friends who don’t think of you as the son of rich, scientists. We think of you as the most brilliant scientist and inventor of the 21st century.”

“You… you really think that?”

“Of course I do. As does Jen and the team. You are highly intelligent and confident because of it, and you don’t brag about it. You’re a computer and communications genius hailing from Oxford. You use your knowledge and resources to create a vast array of gadgets to help us fight SKUL, and you are an expert computer hacker. With your computer hacking skills, you are able to breach the highest security systems. Your skills are rivalled by none. We don’t consider you as a person with rich parents – we consider you as one of the greatest scientific minds on Earth, possessing a mind so brilliant it cannot be measured on any known intelligence test.”

When I’m finished, tears are welling up in Zeke’s eyes.

“Dude… that has to be… the nicest thing… that anyone has ever said to me,” he says, his voice cracking up. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around me. “Thank you, Frank. You truly are a good friend.”

“No problem, Zeke,” I say, giving him a pat-pat-pat on the back while getting awkward stares from people in and around the pool area. “Um, Zeke?”

“Just another minute, bro,” he says, and then whispers, “Just another minute.”

After a whole minutes passes by, Zeke pulls away – and we look up to see Jenny and the team watching us, sniggering.

“I hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” says Carrie, giggling.

Zeke and I laugh nervously as we move away from each other, blushing very red with embarrassment. “How long were you standing there?” I ask.

“Long enough, Frank,” Oscar smiles. “Long enough.”

My face turns even redder while Zeke sinks deeper into the hot tub until only the top half of his face is partially submerged in water as the team giggle.

“OK, guys, I think we’ve embarrassed them enough,” says Jenny.

The rest of Zeke’s face submerges to the surface. “Thanks, Jen.”

“No problem. So other than stumbling in on a bromance, did either of you two stumble on anything SKUL-like with this place?”

I shake my head. “Nothing unusual of any sort. What about you?”

“The same – nothing,” Rose responds. “What now?”

“Hmmmm. We may have to take a different approach,” I say. “I suggest we leave now and come back later when the spa is closed so we can conduct a more thorough investigation.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement. And as me and Zeke climb out of the hot tub, Adelaide shows up and heads to our direction.

“There you all are,” she says. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“Yes, we are thanks,” says Jenny. “But unfortunately, these sorts of things don’t last forever, so we’ll be on our way.”

“Oh, but you haven’t tried our sauna and steam room. We have state-of-the-art technology for the rooms that once you’re finished, you’ll be feeling like a new person. And once more, you six will be the first ever people to try it.”

“Well…” The six of us glance at one another, and then back to Adelaide.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…” I say with some uncertainty.

“Excellent! Follow me,” says Adelaide, turning and walking off before any of us can change our minds.

We follow the raven-haired woman out the pool area and down a few doors, stopping outside two rooms – one labelled SAUNA and the other STEAM ROOM.

“Make a choosing of which room you would like to be in, and I guarantee that the end results will make you feel more… rejuvenate,” says Adelaide.

“I think I’ll try the sauna. I need to sweat a few pounds if I want to fit into my wedding dress,” says Jenny, going into the room.

“I’ll join you,” says Rose, following her, and Carrie joins them.

“I’m going for the steam room,” says Zeke, entering the enclosed space. I follow him, as does Oscar. We sit on the benches and get comfortable – or at least try to. It’s very hard to relax when there’s an evil organization that plans to take over the world with a youth treatment formula of all things. What’s proofing to be more difficult is how we’re going to stop them.

“There’s something strange about this spa,” Oscar says after a long silence. “Particularly Adelaide – I feel like I’ve seen her from somewhere, but I don’t know where.”

“And we still have no idea what SKUL intend on doing with the youth formula,” I say.

“I think I might have some idea,” says Zeke. “Look at your hands!”

We look down at our hands – and my eyes widen with intense shock when I see that they are starting to shrivel up.

“What in the the…?” I start. I look up and I watch in muted horror as Oscar and Zeke’s faces and bodies begin to wrinkle and contract and their hairs start to turn white. The two are staring at me in shock, and then at each other.

“What’s happening to us?” Oscar asks hoarsely.

“We’re… we’re growing older,” Zeke croaks.

“Quick – we need to get out of here,” I rasp.

The three of us carefully lift ourselves off the bench and we s-l-o-w-l-y make our way to the door. We try to open it, but with our combined strength we’re too weak to move it.

“It’s no good – we’re too old and too frail to open the door,” says Zeke.

“We have to keep trying,” I say.

Suddenly, the door swings open causing me, Oscar and Zeke to fall back on the floor. And standing at the doorway is Hans – with two SKUL henchmen.

“You three old-timers are coming with us,” says Hans with a sick smile, and he and the SKUL henchmen advance towards us, and capture us.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Thirty seconds after entering the sauna I’m already starting to sweat. I sit on the bench and get comfortable – but I can’t. I find myself not being able to relax one bit – mainly because I’m thinking of what SKUL’s plan of action is with the youth formula. Even after the body and foot massages, facials and mud baths, and manicures and pedicures I’m still feeling a bit of tension in my body.

“I don’t get it,” says Carrie, disrupting my thoughts.

“Huh? What, what? What don’t you get?” I babble.

“SKUL. Why would they steal a formula to renew your looks and then set up a health spa under false pretences? You would have thought that they would have built some sort of ray gun that would turn everyone into five year olds and the Grandmaster would be living in Downing Street or Buckingham Palace by now.”

“Carrie’s right – there’s something not quite right about this,” says Rose. “There’s also something not right with that instructor, Adelaide. Every time I see her, I feel like I’ve met her before.”

“Same here,” I say. “With that pale and dainty skin and those icy blue eyes, she kind of reminds me of that… SKUL agent.”

It is then I suddenly realize that Adelaide and the SKUL Agent Ada Greer is one in the same – Adelaide _is_ SKUL Agent Ada Greer!

And judging from Rose and Carrie’s surprised expression, I’m sure they’ve figured it out, too.

“Oh, schnitzel,” says Carrie. “I can’t believe we didn’t see it. She was staring right in our faces and we didn’t see it.”

“And now she’s lead us in here. It could be a trap!” says Rose.

“We need to get out of here and tell the guys that it’s a…” I stop when I notice how big the room is getting. “Hey – what’s going on? Why am I shrinking?”

“I don’t think we’re shrinking,” says Rose, her voice suddenly sounding high-pitched. “We’re ageing backwards!”

“We’re turning into five year olds!” Carrie squeals.

“We have to get out!” I squeak. We head for the door and try to tug on the handle. We can’t move it. We rattle the handle and pound on the door, but we still can’t open it.

“It’s hopeless,” says Rose. “There’s no way we can open the door – we’re too little and too weak.”

“What do we do?” Carrie cries. “We can’t stay in here – we’ll die of dehydration!”

“Quiet!” I say, putting my head to the door. I can hear footsteps. “Someone’s coming.”

“It must be Greer with some of her SKUL friends,” Rose comments.

I take a few steps back away from the door. “OK, here’s the plan. If that is Greer with reinforcements and they open the door, we’re gonna rush them. Now we may be little, but we’re sure as heck feisty.”

Suddenly the door starts to rattle. I turn to Rose and Carrie, both of whom have determined looks on their faces.

The door flies open, and there standing straddle-legged, with hands on her hips, is SKUL Agent Ada Greer. Her light brown hair hangs below her mid-back rather than the raven-black shoulder-length wig.

“You MI9 brats have meddled in our affairs for the last time,” says Greer. She turns to the two SKUL henchmen behind her. “Get them.”

“Now!” I shout as soon as the henchmen step forward into the room, and we charge for the door.

I barge past the men and slide under Greer’s legs to make my getaway, but I scream when she reaches out and grabs me – by the hair!

“You evil old witch! Let me _go_!” I shriek, struggling. Then I whirl around and my hand flies out, scratching her face.

Greer screams and immediately lets me go as she clutches her face.

“Why, you little bitch!” she yells, glaring down at me. She tries to make a grab at me, but she topples over when one of the SKUL henchmen crash into her and lands on top of her when he loses his balance.

It seems that Carrie has won her struggle – as has Rose when she kicks the other henchmen in the shin and then stomps hard on his foot.

“Ow!” he cries as he falls to the ground, using one hand to rub his foot and the other his shin.

“Come on!” I say, and we take off running.

“Get those horrible little monsters!” I hear Greer’s scream echo throughout the corridor as we turn a corner.

“We need to find somewhere to hide!” says Rose.

“But where? All the rooms are filled with SKUL agents,” says Carrie.

As we run I look up at the ceiling and see that there are several pipes running along it. “I know where we can hide! Follow my lead,” I say.

I throw myself at a wall and bounce off it to the next wall and then spring off, launching myself to the ceiling and cling onto one of the pipes. Carrie does the same, and so does Rose – but her jump isn’t as high as me or Carrie. As Rose stretches her hand, I release my arms from the pipe and catch her, and I swing her to the one of the pipes where she catches it gracefully with her legs.

As we hang onto the pipes we watch the two henchmen run past us, followed by a very pissed off Greer – and I can see why. There are four red lines on her cheek, with blood trails running down it. It must have been my manicured nails that scratched her. Given that the nail technician who did my nails works for SKUL, she certainly knows how to turn a cosmetic beauty treatment into razor-sharp weaponry.

“When I get my hands on that brat she’s gonna wish that she never attacked me,” Greer says. We watch silently as her and the SKUL henchmen turn a corner – none of us moving until we can’t hear their footsteps anymore.

I hear Carrie sigh with relief. “That was a close one,” she whispers.

“You can say that again,” I reply. “Let’s get down and try and find the…” I stop when two more SKUL henchmen, along with Hans, are walking the same path of the corridor as Greer did just seconds ago with three aged men. They look very familiar. And then it’s only Rose.

“Oh no,” she murmurs. “It’s Frank, Oscar and Zeke.”

“They’ve been captured,” Carrie whispers. “We need to help them.”

“And we will,” I say. “As soon as Hans and the guards walk under us, let go of the pipes.”

We wait until the kidnappers pass underneath and then we drop down, falling feet first into the face of Hans and the henchmen. They fall flat on their backs, looking almost certainly knocked out. I climb off Hans and turn to Frank, shocked about how grey and ancient he looks with his wrinkles, white hair and liver spots. His expression of shock is the same as he sees how little I am.

“Oh, my God, Frank,” I say. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to _you_?” he asks.

“We can find out about that later,” says Zeke. “Right now we have to go!”

“You’ll have to get past me!” says a voice, and we all turn to see Hans getting to his feet.

“Fine by me!” I say, and I whip off my towel (luckily I’m wearing a swimsuit) and throw it in his face. And just as Hans removes the towel from his face, I swing my arm around and punch him in the crotch. His eyes bulge, his mouth goes slack and he doubles over, trembling with pain.

“Let’s get of here!” says Frank. He takes my hand and with the rest of team, we rush past Hans and race down the corridor.

“Look – the exit!” Rose exclaims, pointing to the door at the end of the corridor. We sprint towards it, yank the door open and out onto the street – an alley to be exact.

“Thank goodness we’re out of that madhouse,” says Carrie.

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “But we can’t be running around London wearing just our robes and towels and swimsuits.” It’s a good thing I have my watch on me rather than in my bag with my clothes which are in the spa. And the same goes with the team and their Spy Watches as we use our devices to change into something that doesn’t get us arrested for indecent exposure. I also use my watch-communicator to change Frank and Zeke’s bathrobes into casual and comfortable clothing.

“That’s better,” I say, looking down at my clothes. “Now that we’re properly dressed, we can get a move on.”

“Well, let’s get moving,” says Oscar. “Because I think I can hear someone coming.”

And he’s right – I can hear footsteps approaching.

“Come on,” says Frank, leading us down the alley. I glance over my shoulder and see the anger on Hans’ face, red with anger, as he follows us. But it’s not long until we’re out of the alley and onto the busy street – and into a policewoman.

“Careful!” she says. “Watch where you’re going.”

“A police officer – thank God,” I say, relieved. “There’s a man chasing after us. You need to arrest him.”

“He’s a SKUL agent,” Frank adds, just as Hans shows up. He stops in his tracks, sweating like a sinner in church. He’ll be getting.

“Listen…” the policewoman starts. “I’ve been doing this shift for nearly nineteen hours and during that time, I have dealt with robbers, the drunk and disorderly and assaults. I don’t have time for silly little children and kooky old men who are clearly making up stories.”

“But…” Rose starts.

“I want all of you to leave. Right now. I’ve already got more than enough hooligans in my area.”

I open my mouth to speak, but there’s no point in explaining the situation to her. So Frank, Zeke, the team and I walk off down the street.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that policewoman!” Carrie exclaims. “The way she spoke to us, like we’re idiots. We’ve got rights too.”

“Never mind about her. What about us?” I say, referring to me, Carrie and Rose. “One minute we’re sitting in the sauna and the next we’ve shrunken down to Munchkin height and speaking like chipmunks.”

“And the same goes with us,” says Zeke, referring to him, Oscar and Frank. “Except we were in the steam room – and we’ve aged like spoiled milk. We smell bad and we’ve turned into sour clumps.”

“SKUL knew that we were at the spa, so they used the youth formula on us,” says Rose.

“So what do we do?” Oscar asks. “Should we call MI9?”

“If a policewoman didn’t believe that Hans is a SKUL agent, how are MI9 going to believe that it’s us that they’re speaking too?” I say. “I mean, look at us. We’re aged from five to ninety-five – we are the people in the ‘Seen but Not Heard’ file. No-one’s going to believe that we’re actually teenagers and adults.”

“Jenny’s right – we’re on our own for this one,” says Frank. “We need to follow up on the plan that I came up with before all this happened. We’ll return to the spa tonight, we need to find the formula and we need to figure a way to reverse the effects.”

“But that isn’t until a few hours. What can we do to keep ourselves busy?”

“We can visit the museums,” Rose suggests. “I’ve wanted to go to the Science Museum for a while.”

“Me too,” says Zeke. “But first I need to go wee-wee.”

“So do I,” says Carrie, and everyone else says the same – and come to think of it, need to go myself.

“All right, fine,” I say. “First the toilets, then the museum.” And we all set off to find the nearest building with a toilet.

xxoOoxx

Later. Much, much later! We return to the Ageless Care Spa.

Make sure that the coast is clear and that awful policewoman isn’t roaming the streets. Then we head down the alley that we used to escape Hans and rattle on the door handle – but it’s locked.

“Now how do we get in?” Zeke asks.

“Look!” says Carrie, pointing to a vent that’s five or six feet above us. She goes to it and tries to reach, but she’s far too short – even standing on tippy-toes.

“Let’s try this,” I say, cupping my hands together. Carrie puts her shoes into my cupped hands, and I give her a boost. And from the way she’s grunting, I’d say that she still can’t reach the vent.

“It’s no use. I can’t reach up,” she says.

“How about this?” says Frank. “You can climb onto my shoulder and you’ll be tall enough to climb into the vent.”

“Frank, are you sure?” I say. “I don’t want you putting your back out.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, you don’t want to stay like this forever, do you?”

“Oh God, no. Carrie, you heard the man – saddle up.”

Frank crouches down as Carrie piles up onto his shoulders. Then he slowly and carefully stands up and walks to the window. This time, Carrie reaches over and grabs the grille of the vent and it pulls off easily. I hear her grunt as she climbs in – and then the sound of cluttering.

“Carrie? Are you OK?” Rose calls.

“Carrie?” the rest of us calls.

There’s another moment of silence before any of us hear her. “I’m fine!” she answers.

“Thank God for that,” says Oscar.

“Hmm. I better go in there, too,” I say. “Two heads are always better than one.”

I climb onto Frank’s shoulders and reach for the vent. Then I climb in and I drop myself from the vent and onto a pile of squashed boxes that Carrie landed on.

“I’m in!” I tell the others, and set off to look for Carrie.

Luckily she hasn’t gone that far and I manage to catch up to her, and we walk side by side down the corridor.

“Now if I were the Grandmaster who would use a formula to turn people into children or pensioners, where would I hide it?” I say.

“Maybe in an office – with a safe,” Carrie replies.

“You read my mind. Let’s head upstairs.”

We make our way through the maze of corridors, past six (very creepy) mannequins wearing exercise clothes to a door labelled MR. ANT GRADES – which if you rearrange the letters, you’ll get GRANDMASTER.

“There it is, Carrie,” I say to her. “Let’s go.”

We sprint towards the door. And before we can reach it, a beam of light hits the door.

“Hey, what the…?” Carrie starts, stopping in her tracks. I do the same. Where did that come from?

The beam of light hits the door again. Carrie and I look over our shoulders and see that the lifeless dummies that we ran past… are alive!

“Oh, my God,” Carrie and I exclaim. We watch as their ‘eyes’ glow red for a moment – they’re ready to shoot again! “Come on!” I say, grabbing Carrie’s hand and making a run for it.

We run as fast we can, dodging the laser beams as best as we can, but it’s hard considering that there are six of them and two of us – and we have no gadgets to defend ourselves with.

“We can’t run from them forever!” Carrie pants. “We need to find a way to get them off our backs!”

“And I think I’ve found the answer!” I say as we approach the gym. “Follow me!”

We enter the gym and fly past the exercise equipment that’s laid out before we find ourselves in front of a mirror.

“Er, Jen? I really don’t think that this was a good idea,” says Carrie.

“Trust me on this, OK?” I say. “Just trust me.”

The mannequins catch up to us. Their ‘eyes’ glow red once more with three of the six dummies pointing six laser dots are at me and the other three are pointing six at Carrie.

“When I say now – jump,” I say to her.

The beams fire out of the mannequins eyes.

“Now!” I shout, and we jump out of the way as the laser beams blast out of their ‘eyes’ and hit the mirror. However the laser reflects off the surface and hit the dummies instead, destroying them.

I climb onto my feet and look at my reflection in the mirror. “See, Carrie? You should never underestimate the power of the mirror,” I say, checking myself over. “I think we should get out of here while we still can. I don’t want to take my chances running into more laser beam-firing dummies as much as you do.”

Carrie and I head out of the gym and after walking through the maze of corridors we make it back to the room that we snuck into. Luckily we didn’t need Frank to climb onto his shoulders as we spot a ladder close by and use that to climb out of the vent and into the arms of Frank and Oscar.

“How did you do?” Frank asks. “Did you get the formula?”

Carrie and I shake our heads. “Sorry, Frank,” I say. “The place is guarded with mannequins that shoot laser beams out of their eyes. The office will be harder to get in than a nun’s chastity belt.”

“Besides, it’s more likely that the Grandmaster will have it on him than leave it lying around,” Carrie adds.

“Never mind – you did you’re best,” says Frank. “We should get home and think of a new plan tomorrow.”

The six of us walk down the alley and out onto the busy street – and into a woman. For the second time today!

“Sorry…” I start, but stop when I stare at the old woman and gasp when I recognize the peachy-pale skin and almond-shaped blue eyes. “No way,” I say. “It’s Jasmine Allen.”

Allen stares down at me. “Do I know you?” she asks.

“It’s me – Agent Brownstone from MI9. I spoke to you yesterday with Agent Williams.”

“That’s me,” says Zeke, waving.

“Oh, my God,” says Allen. “They got you, too.”

“Us too,” says Frank, monitoring to himself and the team. “The youth formula turned us into children and OAPs. Why did they use the formula on you?”

Allen sniffles, like she’s about to cry. “After I left Pinewood yesterday, I went to see the people who shot the advert I starred to tell them that MI9 were starting to ask questions. I went to speak Mr. Grades…”

“Mr. Grades?” everyone asks.

“Mr. Ant Grades is an anagram for Grandmaster,” I tell them.

“Anyway, I heard Mr. Grade or Grandmaster or whoever talking to one of his employees,” Allen continues. “He was complimenting one of them on the process and says that once the world understands they own the anti-aging process, their vanity will be a path to his door. I didn’t know that someone was watching me listening in on the conversation and they caught me and took me to Mr. Grades. I told him that I wasn’t going to tell anyone about this. But he took no notice and made me decades older, telling me that it was such a shame that he had to do that to me, and he’ll find some other pretty young thing to do the adverts rather than a wrinkled old prune. And now I’m ruined!”

Allen bursts into tears. Zeke digs into his pockets and takes out a tissue for her to dry her eyes with.

“So that’s why he stole the formula,” says Oscar. “He’s using it to make a profit. People will pay millions to stay forever young.”

“And he’ll keep making them younger until they look six months old,” Carrie adds. “This gives him the means to take over London.”

“This doesn’t explain why you and Maddocks did the advert for free,” I say to Allen.

“That’s because Mr. Grades told us that the proceeds of the advert will go to charity,” she explains. “The Society for Kids and Underprivileged Labradors.”

“SKUL?” says Rose. “Miss Allen, they’re not a charity – they’re an evil organization called the Secret Kriminal Underground League.”

“And the Grandmaster – Mr. Ant Grades – is the leader of the organization,” I say as a further remark. “And they sure as hell don’t care about children or dogs. Rabbits, yes – but not dogs.”

“You mean… I’ve been working with criminals?” says Allen, and we all nod. “Oh, my God – I’ve been such an idiot!”

“You are not to blame for this, Miss Allen,” says Frank. “We’ll do what we can to reverse the process and our youth and strength. Can you tell us where you went after you left Pinewood yesterday?”

“I went to their facility in Hertfordshire where I once visited while shooting an advert.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” I say – then I let out a yawn. “But not tonight – it’s late and it’s way past my bedtime.”

“Well, I can’t go home looking like this!” says Carrie. “Where can we go?”

“You guys stay at my house,” Zeke offers. “My parents are out of town for the weekend so there’s no-one around to ask any questions.”

“That’s very kind of you, Zeke – thank you,” says Frank. “But how are we getting there?”

He’s about to answer when we hear a horn beeping.

A large black car pulls up to the pavement. The window winds down and I gasp when I recognize the person in the driver’s seat. “Victor!” I say. I turn to the others. “Guys – this is Victor Bishop. He works as chauffeur and handyman for Zeke and his family.”

“Hey there, Jen!” he says. “You’ve gotten… smaller since I last saw you.” He looks to Zeke. “And you… I only saw you this morning and now you’re an old man. What happened?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, Victor,” says Zeke. “I figured that you wouldn’t recognize my voice if we spoke on the phone – which is why I texted you. We were hoping if you can take us all back to mine, and I promise you we’ll return to normal before my parents get back by this time tomorrow.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Zeke. Hop in, everyone.”

Rose, Carrie and I open the door and help Frank, Zeke, Oscar and Allen into the car before climbing in ourselves. After we close the door and buckle up, Victor starts the car up again and takes us to Zeke’s house.

xxoOoxx

The next morning after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, we set off in a van for the SKUL base in Hertfordshire. But not before Zeke gears us up with gadgets!

The journey is a bit of a long one, taking nearly an hour and a half. During that time we go over the plan about how we’re going to take down SKUL, get back the youth formula and reverse the process.

When we arrive at the base we see that the building looks more like a factory than a film studio. The building is large, smoked glass and steel, each one joined to the next by a platform walkway. The factory is surrounded by a metal fence. Its ten metres high, topped with razor wire. Arc lamps on scaffolding towers stand at regular intervals and there are huge signs, red on white. You could read from them from the next county.

“Frontier Corporation – Strictly Private,” Rose reads one of the signs.

“Trespassers will be shot,” I mutter. Not if we shoot them first.

The van reaches the main gate, where a guard in his twenties, pale-faced, and dressed in a dark blue uniform stands at the barrier – and he has a rifle in his hands.

“Hi there,” says Frank who is sitting behind the wheel. Allen is next to him in the passenger’s seat. “My wife and I are heading to Center Parcs in Nottinghamshire and we must have taken a wrong turning. Could you give directions on where to go?”

“You are on private property,” the guard replies. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

I come up to the partition window. “Are we here, Grandpa?” I ask. “Are we at Center Parcs?”

“Yeah! We’re here, we’re here, we’re here!” Carrie says excitedly, joining me, as does Rose.

“Grandpa – I need the toilet!” she says. “I’m bursting!”

We all talk at the same time while Allen tries to calm us down. “Kids, eh? They’re so full of energy,” she says.

“You can say that again, dear,” Frank says, chuckling. He turns to the guard. “Those are our granddaughters – we’re taking them on holiday with us. I don’t suppose you can let us use the toilets? It’s been a long trip.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” the guard says reluctantly. But when he sees me, Carrie and Rose give him ‘the Bambi eyes’ look, the last of his defences crumbles. “All right, all right – but be quick about it, OK? It’s the first building on the left.”

“Thank you so much, young man,” says Frank as the barrier lifts up and drives inside.

“Hey, good work on the toilet idea, Rose,” Zeke tells her, causing her to blush.

“Yeah – and good work on the ‘puppy-dog eyes’ look,” says Oscar. “You girls were great.”

“We sure are!” I say, throwing my arms around Rose and Carrie’s shoulders.

“Uh-oh!” says Frank. “Guys, you better get ready – I think SKUL may have found out that we’re not who we say we are.”

I look at the window and see the Grandmaster, Greer, Hans and several SKUL henchmen surround the van. We quickly grab our gadgets and wait at the door.

“Hey, Mr. Grades – remember me?” I hear Allen say. “Or should I say Grandmaster.”

He gasps. “How do you know my name?”

“Because I told her,” Frank responds.

“Who the devil are you?”

“I’m MI9 – and so are these guys!”

That’s our cue.

Oscar and Zeke throw the doors open, hitting some of the SKUL henchmen and me, Rose and Carrie ride out of the van in skateboards and roller skates.

“Hey, butt-head – here’s mace in your eyes!” I say, shooting the compound from my Super Soaker water gun into the eyes of the henchmen, causing them a lot of tears, pain, and temporary blindness. Rose and Carrie are also shooting mace in the henchmen’s faces, while Oscar, Zeke, Frank and Allen are spraying slimy green gunge.

“Nobody takes me by surprise!” the Grandmaster yells, and he looks like he’s about a fraction of a second away from launching himself into battle when two SKUL agents come up to him.

“Sir, you shouldn’t endanger yourself,” says one of them. “We need to get you to safety.”

“We’ll fight them another day,” says the other.

The Grandmaster hesitates, but he nods. “Fine – let us retreat while we’ve got the chance to. Once again, MI9, you’ve beaten me! But I shall have my victory one day!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” I say, knocking a SKUL agent to the ground. I turn to the others who are continuing their battle with the other SKUL agents and henchmen. “I’m going after the Grandmaster! Cover me!”

I take off after the Grandmaster on my skateboard, shooting mace with my water gun at any SKUL minion that comes in my way.

As I turn a corner I see a man standing in my path. He has the appearance of a dishevelled homeless man – and it’s then I realized that it’s the guy who rode the flying snowmobile who helped Greer escaped with the youth formula.

“Hold it, small fry!” he yells.

I skid my skateboard to a stop and look up at the homeless man.

“There’s no point in going after the Grandmaster – he’s long gone,” he tells me.

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” I ask.

“Because I was the one who helped him into his car and then told the driver to get the hell away from here.”

I’m still unsure about whether or not to believe this guy – but then again, the Grandmaster has been known to make more disappearing acts than Houdini.

“So… what are you going to do to me?” I ask. “Are you gonna shoot me… or spank me?”

The homeless man laughs and shakes his head. “No. No, I’m going to do nothing of the sort. Instead, I’m going to give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and holds me a piece of paper. I open it up – and gasp when I see what’s on it.

“Madam LeClère’s formula!” I say. “But…”

“When I helped the Grandmaster into the car… well, let’s just say that my hand wandered into his pocket by accident,” says the dishevelled man. “And let’s just say that it fell out of _my_ pocket while I was escaping.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“The Grandmaster can do so much better than turning London into a nursery or a retirement home. That is if you like being as you are now…”

“No, no! No, thank you. I was five once, and once is more than enough. Anyway… thanks.”

The homeless smiles in response. “The prototype sauna and steam rooms are just down this path to your right,” he points out.

“OK. Thanks again.”

I hear screams echo through the building. I look over my shoulder. Frank and the others are in trouble. I have to help them – after I return to my correct age. When I turn back, the homeless man has vanished into thin air.

“I wish people wouldn’t do that,” I say to myself. “Anyway…”

I take off once again on my skateboard – heading for the sauna and steam rooms.

**(Frank’s POV)**

We’re fighting a losing battle. Our gunge and mace spray is running out and we don’t have anything else to defend ourselves with. Rose and Carrie try to run circles around the SKUL henchmen but Hans takes out Carrie’s skateboard with two shots of his laser gun and the wheels of Rose’s roller skates with one shot.

“We need to retreat!” I tell the others. “Fall back! Fall back!”

We head towards the van but a missile hits the vehicle, destroying it. I turn to see Greer holding a bazooka in her hands.

“OK, Gramps – drop the gunge gun and reach for the skies,” she says, pointing the rocket launcher at us.

I throw my gunge gun to the ground and hold up my hands. Zeke, Oscar and Allen follow. I watch as Hans carries Rose and Carrie over to us.

“You big bully!” Carrie shouts, hitting him. “Put us down! Put us down right now!”

“You got, titch,” says Hans, and dumps the girls at our feet.

“Ow,” Rose groans. “Next time, Carrie, tell him to gently place us on the ground.”

“All right, where is she?” says Greer.

“Where is who?” I say, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me, old man – you know exactly who I’m talking about! Where is the bratty little bitch who scratched up my face?”

“Up here, lame brain!” says a female voice.

We all look up. It’s Jenny. And she’s back to her normal age.

“All right, Cat-Girl,” says Greer, “you have about five seconds to bring your black arse down here otherwise I’m gonna blow your friends into smithereens!”

“Go ahead, Greer! Blow them up – I don’t care!” says Jenny. “Because if you blow them up, you’ll be blowing coming along for the ride!”

“What? What is she talking about?” I mutter to myself.

“Not only have I returned to my normal age, but I have also reprogrammed the prototypes to explode and destroy the entire base!” she continues.

There are panicked cries around us.

“She can’t be serious, can she?” says Zeke.

Greer isn’t too sure herself. “You’re bluffing!” she screams.

Jenny smiles steadily. “Try me!” she taunts.

The SKUL henchmen tremble with fear and they take off running.

“You cowards! Come back here!” Greer calls after them. “Can’t you see that she’s lying?!”

“Lying or not, we’re getting out of here!” Hans says, turning and running. “I don’t want to be blown up-p-p-p-p!”

“Grrr!” Greer turns to Jenny, her mouth pursed in a smirk. Then Greer drops the bazooka and takes off running. “You cowards – wait for me-e-e-e-e!”

We all cheer at our victory and Jenny for saving us.

“Thanks for saving us, Jen!” I say. “You’re brilliant!”

“I know!” she replies with a grin. “Now get yourselves up here so I can turn you all back to normal.”

xxoOoxx

We were all relieved when we found Jenny and that she had the formula in her possession. She told us that she picked it up on her to finding the Grandmaster – and she figured out how to reverse the process. She tells Rose and Carrie to enter the steam room while the rest of us enter the sauna. The timer is set for five minutes – and we’re hoping that we’ll revert back to our normal ages.

“It feels so good to be back to my normal age,” says Oscar, coming out of the sauna five minutes later. Me, Zeke and Allen are right behind, nodding in agreement. Rose and Carrie come out of the steam room at the same time as us.

“I know, right?” says Jenny. “And I can’t believe those idiotic SKUL agents thought that I had rigged this place to explode.”

“You mean you were bluffing?” Rose asks.

“Of course I was. I couldn’t even rig a beauty contest if I wanted to let alone bombs.”

“Well, your plan is something short of genius,” I say. “If it wasn’t for you we would’ve been blown to kingdom come.”

“Just like the van,” says Rose. “How are we supposed to get home?”

“While you aging back to normal, I made a call to MI9 to come and pick us up as well as shutting this place down,” Jenny replies. “They’ll also return the formula to Madame LeClère.”

“What about the Ageless Care Spa?” Allen says. “What will happen to that?”

“Knowing SKUL they would have cleared up shop and abandoned the place,” says Zeke. “And that is fantastic! Because now I can buy the building and turn it into a spa – and it’ll be made exclusively for spy agents.”

“Wow, Zeke – that’s amazing,” I say, and he smiles gratefully.

We soon hear a horn blasting below us. We look down and see a black car. The window winds down and the agent waves up at us.

“Our ride is here,” says Jenny. “Let’s go.”

We all head back down to ground level where more black cars appear. Jenny hands the formula to one of the agents and tells him to take it back to the rightful owner at the Cliffside Hotel and Spa in Cardigan. Then she climbs into the car and we all set off back to London – happy that we are all back to normal.


	53. The Princess Assignment

**(Jenny’s POV)**

There’s just less than a month to go until the wedding and there’s still so much to do. I’m spending my English lesson going through the checklist that I made to see what needs to be done. I need to go for a final fitting for my bridal gown – as do the bridal party for their attire, pick up the wedding rings and have them engraved, reserve all necessary rentals for the ceremony and reception, and meet up with the wedding photographer and videographer to discuss any special photo requests and back-up plans in case of unfavourable weather conditions.

There’s also the matter of the hen party, which Livi is planning as she is my maid of honour. And we both have very different ideas. My kind of hen party will consist of a pamper day, where we’ll shop ‘til we drop and receive beauty and massage treatments and generally spend time indulging and pampering ourselves in a spa and salon. But Livi’s idea of a hen party will be dragging me and the rest of the bridal party to a male strip club and/or hire a male stripper or a naked butler – not that I have a problem with the latter. I can see it now: a handsome, half-naked man with his muscular chest and magnificent arms, dressed in just a collar, dickie bow, cuffs and a short apron serving drinks and food – and I ‘accidently’ spill some wine on his apron and he’ll have no choice but to take it off, revealing his thick, long and bulbous…

“Jenny!” A loud voice, combined with an equally loud, sudden noise on the table startles me out of my X-rated daydream.

Without thinking, I spring to my feet and exclaim, “What? What? What?” – and find that the classroom is empty, but not too empty. Rose, Oscar and Carrie are at my desk, with Oscar’s palm placed on the flat surface. He must have been the one who made me jump out of my skin.

“That must’ve been some dream you had going,” he says. “The bell went five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that,” I say, smoothing my clothes. “I was, um… thinking about how perfect the wedding will be next month.”

“Looks like she was thinking more of the honeymoon,” Carrie mutters, sniggering – but a ‘be quiet’ nudge from Rose forces Carrie to, of course, be quiet.

“Take no notice of Carrie,” says Rose. “Despite the stresses of planning a wedding, your wedding _will_ be perfect – immaculate even.”

“Thanks, Rose,” I reply. “And you’re right about the wedding planning – it is stressful. These last few weeks have been a bit tense as we get closer to the big day – especially when you’re a spy. Maybe I need to take some time away from the wedding planning. Find time to have a romantic getaway with, Frank, do a little retail therapy, pamper myself with hot bubble baths, French Champagne and candles, continue with fitness schedule and a healthy eating plan to minimise stress and to tone up. Live my life without a care in the world!”

Suddenly, my watch-communicator vibrates.

“Looks like all those stress-free activities will have to wait,” says Carrie.

“Wonderful,” I sigh, slightly disappointed.

“Huh.” Oscar takes out his pencil communicator from his trouser pocket. “That’s strange – the light on my communicator isn’t flashing.”

“Neither is mine,” says Rose, holding her communicator.

“It seems that this mission is just for _moi_ ,” I say, gathering my stuff. “Wish me luck, gang – I’m gonna need it.”

“Good luck!” the team chorus, and with that Supergirl swooshes out of the classroom and dashes towards the caretaker’s cupboard.

This mission must be one of great importance that only I’m called for and not the others.

And I’m right. When I arrive down at HQ, Frank is waiting for me – along with Stark and Director Fairchild. This must be serious.

“This assignment must be really something that requires me and me only,” I say, walking up to them.

 “Indeed it does, Agent Brownstone,” says Director Fairchild. “It’s one of national, or in this case, international importance. Frank?”

He turns on the computer and displayed on the screen is a head and chest shot of a young, fair-skinned girl in her early twenties. She has a soft, oval face with large brown eyes and thin, dark blonde eyebrows. She has golden-blonde hair that falls in soft waves past her shoulders, topped with a silvery tiara, and she’s dressed in elaborate and fancy clothing.

“This is Astrid Hjördis Rosa Andreasen, Princess of Faärland,” Frank tells me. “And this Saturday, on her twenty-first birthday, she’ll be Queen Astrid of Faärland.”

“That is, of course, if she lasts longer enough to see that birth-OOF!” Stark gets a sharp elbow jab to the ribs from Director Fairchild.

“I think what Stark was trying to say – and being a complete insensitive arse about it – is that someone doesn’t want Princess Astrid to be queen,” says the director.

“You mean there’s someone out to kill her,” I enquire.

“Yes. For the last couple of weeks, the princess has been involved in a number of ‘accidents’ on an attempt on her life – the most recent one was two days ago when she received a dress that was laced with embalming fluid.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Luckily the princess had ordered one of her maids to have the dress disposed – unfortunately the maid decided to keep the dress for herself and try it on. She was found dead in her bed the next morning.”

I’m so shocked I don’t even know what to say. I can’t believe someone would be cruel to use a poisoned dress to kill the heir to the throne – or in this case, the maid who serves the heir to the throne.

“I think you know what your mission is, Agent Brownstone,” the director continues. “You’ll be sent to Faärland to be Princess Astrid’s personal bodyguard. You’ll be employed to escort and protect her from her assassin – you need to find out who they are and stop them. Any questions?”

“Yeah – when do I leave?”

“You have one hour to pack a bag,” Stark says in a brisk, businesslike tone. “A car will be waiting for you to take you to the airport.”

“But before you go, you’ll need some gadgets,” says Frank. He picks up a beautiful crystal peardrop flower brooch. “First, we have the Tracking Brooch Device – the GPS is linked to your watch-communicator so you can track the princess. And then there’s this” – he produces a round object, roughly the size of a snooker ball – “the Tangled Net Grenade. It releases a wire net and ensnares the person. Finally, we have this” – Frank picks up a small case with contact lenses inside – “the Camera Contact Lens. The tiny in-built camera embedded along the edge of the lens is linked wirelessly to the computers here in HQ and to the Spy-Pods enabling us to follow your precise gaze without obstructing your view. We get audio too so we can hear everything.”

“Amazing,” I say, impressed.

“And before I forget there is this.” Frank holds up a small black box that contains star-shaped earrings. “The Hologram Projecting Earrings – you don’t need me explaining to you what they do.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” I tease, taking the earrings from him, along with the other gadgets. “Now I’m ready.”

“I wish you the best of luck on your mission, Agent Brownstone,” says Director Fairchild.

“Yeah, good luck, Jen,” says Frank. “And be careful.”

“Thanks – I will,” I reply, and with that I head out of HQ to begin my royal mission.

xxoOoxx

I arrive in Faärland around six o’clock, landing in Schonan Airport – the skies cloudy and rainy. The journey took nearly two and a half hours. During that time, I decided to get the low-down on the country, and this is what I’ve found out: Faärland is a Scandinavian country in Northern Europe, bordered between Norway and Sweden. It’s one of the world’s smallest countries with the population of three thousand, five hundred. It has five towns and cities; its largest city is Schonan, which is also the country’s capital, and it’s located at the very heart of Faärland. The official language is Faärlandic, the demonym is Faärlander and they drive on the right, and their Prime Minister is a guy called Søren Björk.

It’s basic knowledge, but I’m sure I’ll know more during my stay for the next few days.

I also read the file on Princess Astrid. She’s the only child of King Andreas and Queen Celestine… but they are both decreased – the queen died when the princess was three years old following a short illness and the king died last year in his sleep of a heart attack, even though he was in very good health. Princess Astrid has no other living relatives other than the king’s brother, Sigurðr, who acted as Head of State until the princess finished her education – but no-one has seen neither hide nor hair of him since last week. This must be the assassin’s doing – or maybe Sigurðr is pretending to be missing and he’s hired someone to take out his niece so he can be king himself. Either way I intend to get to the bottom of this mission and stop this person from harming the princess.

The plane taxis to a stop. The captain and co-pilot come out of the cockpit just as the stewardess opens the door. I climb to my feet and stretch, and then I collect my oversized white bag and suitcase.

“Thank you for flying with us, Miss Brownstone,” said the captain, shaking my hand. “I hope you had a pleasant flight.”

“Absolutely – thanks very much,” I say, smiling.

“Welcome to Faärland,” says the stewardess, holding the jet door open with one hand as I pass her, taking the umbrella that she has opened for me, and head down the steps.

A black car with tinted windows is parked across the airport apron with a tall, slim man with dark maroon hair standing in front of it. He’s dressed in a sharp, dapper suit, and holding an umbrella over his head. He must be my chauffeur.

When I get near him, the driver gives me a quick nod and a curt, “Hello, Miss Brownstone.”

I nod back.

The driver takes my luggage and loads them into the truck. Then he opens up the back door and I climb inside the car. The driver gets behind the wheel; he starts the car and we drive off.

The ride is long and silent – but it’s also quite pleasant as the car takes us to Schonan. And I have to say it is gorgeous – a dazzling metropolis of art and artifice. Even through the veil of rain. A wide variety of shops, cafés, and restaurants are spread throughout the whole city. The outer portion of the city is lined by tall office buildings and wide brick and cobblestone boulevards, while the avenues of the inner portion are lined by smaller Dragestil-style buildings. The wide roadways throughout the entire city afford safe and easy passage for automobile traffic. A large canal also runs diagonally through the city.

We drive round the edge of the Schonan towards the inland, down a lane that twists between fields. A little village lays before us: roofs, chimney tops, and one white church spire all postcard-perfect.

“The village of Ulsä,” the driver says, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

“It’s pretty,” I reply, straightening in my seat to get a better view.

We are silent once again as we drive through the picturesque village. We drive down one country road after another, sometimes passing a village shop or converted church or row of cottages, but then we are into true countryside, with isolated lonely lanes, tangling branches over our heads, a thick leaf of canopy casting us into an odd green bloom.

It’s like the picture of some fairytale. Even the trees have got knobbly bits so that they look like weird faces. And the roots looks like they’re reaching out to grab us.

I feel like we’re hopelessly lost as we turn down yet another lane, and then another, and then a very windy one up a hill, so we are thrown this way and that, like a fairground ride.

The driver stops the car at the top of the hill. “We have arrived,” he says.

I crane forward in the gap between the front seats and see for myself. And I am stunned. There, below us, is a beautiful castle.

It’s like a true Disney fairytale castle with spacious green grounds and a fountain at the centre as well as several hedges and plantlife. The main feature of the castle is a rectangular or square shape, with four towers supporting it, made of light cream marble and grey cone-shaped roofs. The highest tower emerges from a wider circular tower underneath – both in the centre of the castle. A pole sits on top of the highest tower, with a flag flying at full mast. It is made up of two horizontal stripes and a circle in blue, dark bronze, purple and dark blue.

“Harvonia Castle,” the driver says. “That is where Princess Astrid lives.”

“Oh, wow!” I breathe. “It’s spectacular!”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s keep going.”

He starts up the car and we drive down the steep hill towards Harvonia Castle. I gaze ahead, staring at the building as if it’s a heavenly vision as we get nearer and nearer. There’s just one road lined with trees.

We get to the great gates at the head of a long gravel driveway; elaborate wrought-iron gates just like the ones in Buckingham Palace. The grounds stretches out as far as I can see, completely empty.

The driver gives a _beep_ on his car horn. The gates open and we drive straight through. The gravel crunches and crackles as the driver drives the car slowly past the fountain while I crane my neck staring up at the great cream-coloured European-style building, awestruck. It’s very large, about six-storeys high. It’s a castle that just doesn’t know when to stop. Above the front door is a fairly large shield with an asymmetrical outward curving sided top and a symmetrical upwards curving bottom is supported by a pine and a peacock. All of which rests on a small island surrounded by ocean. A large crown, or coronet, rests atop the shield, it’s a crown of tines with pearls and two rows of similar gems decorate the outer sides. That must be the Royal Family’s coat of arms.

As the car pulls up at the main entrance, the door opens and two well-dressed men step out. One of them is short and portly and middle-aged, with light brown hair that’s balding at the top and a thick dark brown moustache. The other is even taller and skinner than the driver, with long limbs and a skinny torso. He has a very sharp jaw and a pointy chin, and like his partner has short light brown hair – but it’s a full head of hair – that’s styled in a sprout-shaped cowlick and a soft and fluffy dark brown moustache. He’s dressed in a black suit and tails, like a butler. They both kind of remind me of the Super Mario brothers.

The driver gets out of the car and opens the door for me. I step out and say, “Thank you” to him, just as the men walk down the set of stairs and stride towards me.

“Good evening, Miss Brownstone,” the short man says in a strong Faärlandic accent. “Welcome to Harvonia Castle. My name is Niklas – I am Princess Astrid’s secretary and advisor, formerly King Andreas’ secretary and advisor.”

“How do you do,” I say, shaking his hand.

The driver takes my luggage to the butler, and then he goes back into the castle. The driver goes back into the car and drives off – probably to park it.

“If you would like to follow us,” says Niklas, and heads inside.

I follow after him and the butler up the stairs and go through the front door, into a large entrance hall. My mouth hangs open when I’m greeted by the sight of the vast room. The entrance hall is so big you can have fit a whole house in it. The ceiling is incredibly high with a large and grand scale chandelier hanging above us. Right from above, light shines from the chandelier which glows against the wonderful, painstakingly crafted interior decorations. The walls are decorated with the finest materials and craftsmanship. A magnificent marble staircase facing us leads to the upper floors. There is also a balcony above the entrance hall.

I am in such awe that I don’t even realize that Niklas and the butler have gone ahead without me. I follow after them up the grand staircase. A truly royal feel is achieved by the rich red tapestry the lines the route to the upstairs rooms.

I reach the top of the staircase to the first-floor corridor that and catch up with them. Two more staircases lead up to the second floor. I turn my attentions back to the secretary and the butler where they both enter an elevator located in the recess in front of me. I step in with them and Niklas presses the button for the fourth floor. The doors close and the lift goes up.

The doors ping open when we reach our floor and Niklas ushers me out into a long and wide corridor that’s ahead of us, with polished marble floors and chandeliers. The wall decorations are a combination of fine art plaster work and precious metals such as bronze. A series of cream-coloured doors is punctuated by gold-framed paintings, peering down at us – grim men with jutting chins and women in profile with long noses, all wearing grand and regal attire.

“I wonder who they are,” I mutter to myself.

“These are the royal ancestors of the princess,” Niklas replies. I didn’t think he heard me. “They have ruled Faärland for over seven hundred years.”

“Whoa,” I murmur.

Niklas and the butler lead me along the corridor to cream-coloured double-doors at the far end of the corridor. The butler stands aside as Niklas opens the door before stepping out of the way. “You will be staying here,” he says.

I step inside. My room is large, decorated in a spectrum of red hues, crimson velvets, and silk wall hangings. There’s a four-poster bed and a set of windows looking out to a large open space that’s calm, green and vibrant. I can spot a shade of darker green a few miles away – the forest, maybe. My bags are lying on the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable, Miss Brownstone,” says Niklas. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I’ll come and collect you then.”

He and the butler take their leave, with the butler closing the door after he leaves. I go over to my bags and start to unpack. When I finished I decide to explore my room – and when I say explore, I mean check for bugs. I dig into the side pocket of my white bag and take out a tin case. There’s a pen inside the case when I open it. But it’s not just any pen – it’s a Pen Bug Detector. Zeke gave it to me before I left. As the name suggests, this compact wireless device can detect bugs. When a wireless signal is detected, the red indicator LED will blink. The frequency of the blinking LED will increase as I come closer to the signal source. This system will detect a wireless signal that is video, audio or data. The stronger the original signal strength, the farther away it can be detected. It’s portable and inconspicuous, making this unit perfect for an agent on international missions.

I twist the top of the bug detector, activating it, and begin scanning for any wireless signals. I look everywhere: under the bed, the canopy above the bed, the drawers and wardrobes, and the en-suite bathroom. The rooms are clean after spending ten minutes looking in every nook and cranny with the device.

I twist the pen again, deactivating it, and I have a quick shower. When I’m finished, I give my hair a quick drying-off and get ready for dinner. I put on a stunning black-and-golden lace cocktail dress with long sleeves and high neckline. My accessories feature dramatic earrings, a sleek bracelet and strappy black high-heeled sandals. Next, I straighten my hair and apply make-up, and lastly I put in the Camera Contact Lens.

There’s a knock on the door. Dinner must be ready. I open the door to find Niklas standing in the doorway.

“Ready just in time, Miss Brownstone,” he says. “And I must say you look lovely.”

I smile. “Thank you, Niklas.”

“Follow me.”

Niklas leads me along the corridor and down the stairs to another corridor. We come to one of the double-doors and he opens them for me. The room is medium-sized but grand nonetheless, with a mirror hanging over the fireplace to the right of me and an equally large round table in the centre with silverware and glassware laid out and a floral centrepiece. Six polished wood chairs surround the table.

“The princess will be here shortly,” Niklas says, and leaves.

I walk over to the set of windows opposite the doors and look to the lush, friendly view that I see from my newly-appointed bedroom window. Darkness has fallen, but I can see that some of the trees near the castle are lit with coloured lamps so they glow royal blue and emerald green. It looks strange yet magical at the same time.

I hear the door open. I whirl around in time to see Niklas and two manservants enter the room.

“I present to you Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Astrid. And her lady-in-waiting, Ophelia Ingebreston,” Niklas announces.

The two women enter the room. Princess Astrid looks even more beautiful in the flesh. She is of average weight and height, albeit she’s slightly shorter than me. Her golden-blonde hair cascades effortlessly across her shoulders. Astrid is wearing a strapless cocktail dress with shirring details, paired with a matching bolero jacket with shimmering black and gold overlay. Matching belt with diamond buckle cinched at the waist, diamond earrings and bracelet, and black peep-toe shoes complete her flattering ensemble.

Her lady-in-waiting, Ophelia, is taller than the princess and me, and full-figured. Her skin is gold like honey and her hair is a very dark shade of brown, pulled back in a low ponytail. Her left eye is dark blue while her right eye cannot be seen as it is covered by an eye patch. Ophelia is dressed in a stylish ensemble composed of a sheer black chiffon blouse with built-in bustier and smart black high-waist trousers. The look is completed by black high-heels and earrings.

I do a small curtsey in the presence of the princess. She steps towards me, walking diligently and swiftly on her toes like a ballerina, despite wearing high-heeled shoes. A polite smile spreads across her face. “As you people say in Britain when meeting someone, how do you do,” she says, extending her hand.

She’s being reading up on British etiquette.

I shake her hand and smile back. “How do you do, Your Royal Highness,” I say. I shake Ophelia’s hand. “How do you do?”

“Hello,” she replies.

“I take that you are the person the British government sent to protect me,” says Princess Astrid.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” I respond. “My name is Agent Jenny Brownstone of MI9.”

“Pleasure to meet you, but there’s no need to be formal with me. You can call me Astrid.”

“Oh.” I surprised that someone of a royal status would want me to address her by her first name. “Um, all right… Astrid. You can call me Jenny – or Jen.”

She continues to smile at me. “Let us be seated.”

Niklas and the two manservants pull out chairs for Astrid, Ophelia and me. I wait for the princess to be seated first, followed by Ophelia, and then I take my place. The three men bow at us from the neck and leave the room, closing the door behind them.

“You must forgive the sombre attire that Ophelia and I are wearing,” says Astrid. “We have just returned from the funeral of Apollonia.”

“Apollonia?” I question.

“The maid who died two days ago,” Ophelia tells me.

“Oh yes, I was told about… that,” I say, not sure how I could put it. “I’m very sorry for your loss. How long was she here?”

“Nearly two years next month,” the princess replies. She shakes her head and sighs. “It’s so tragic – she was only twenty-six. And it’s that madman’s fault – the one who’s out to get me.”

“You mustn’t get so stressed about this, Astrid,” says Ophelia. “It’s not good for you.”

“But I can’t help it! There’s a maniac who is out to kill me, and he sent a dress that was meant for me. What would have happened if _I_ was the one who tried that dress on? I could have been the one lying dead and buried, not her.”

Astrid strives to be strong, but she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Did the coroner tell you how the poison got into the maid?” I ask.

“The doctor who examined her said he found traces of formaldehyde in her body that had soaked through her pores when she wore the dress,” Ophelia explains.

“I thought the dress was laced with embalming fluid.”

“Embalming fluid largely consists of formaldehyde.”

“Oh. Where is the dress?”

“It has been disposed of – I saw to it myself.”

“If only Apollonia threw away the dress like I told her to, she might still be here,” Astrid mourns.

“You can’t change what has happened, Astrid,” I tell her. “But rest assure I will find the person responsible for Apollonia’s death – as well as the person who is out to kill you. You can count on it.”

The princess gives a small smile. “Thank you, Jenny. I am very grateful.”

There’s a knock at the door and Astrid tells that person to come in. Niklas and the two same manservants enter the room, each holding silver platter with dome cover. They place the dishes in front of me, Astrid and Ophelia, and then they remove the cover, revealing the dish.

“Ladies, I present to you barbecued basil and mint pork with dried honey and almond rice, and simmered ginger chutney, with dry-roasted beets and lemon oysters on the side,” Niklas announces.

My mouth is practically slavering like a waterfall at the sight of the extremely appetizing food in front of me.

“Jonathan has done it again,” says Astrid, taking in its glorious smell. “Give my compliments to him.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Niklas says with a bow, and exits the room. The two manservants also bow and follow Niklas out of the room, with one closing the door behind him.

“You are going to _love_ Jonathan’s cooking!” says Astrid raves to me. “He has been serving my family for many years, serving up dishes that are out of this world. He is a cookery god.”

I’m about to take a spoonful of my food when a thought comes to me. This person who wants to kill Astrid will try anything to have her eliminated – even maybe poisoning her food!

I watch in horror as the princess is about to take a bite of her barbecued basil and mint pork. “Wait, Astrid!” I cry, startling her and Ophelia.

“What is it, Jenny? What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I’m sorry to have scared you, Astrid, but I need to inspect your food,” I say.

“What?” she and Ophelia say at the same time. “Why?” Ophelia asks.

“There may be a chance that someone could have slipped something into your dish,” I counter.

“You mean poison?” Astrid asks, and I nod. “Then by all means,” she says, pushing her plate over to me.

I pull up my sleeve to reveal my watch-communicator. I open up the device and use the digital watch face to scan each of the food on the plate while I look at the screen to see if anything comes up. But after about a minute, I come up empty. I also check the wine, but it’s clean.

“It seems that I was wrong,” I say, pushing Astrid’s plate back to her. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize – you were just doing your job,” she says. “And I think that’s what you should do before I have my meal, so I’ll know it’s safe to eat. Speaking of which, let’s dig in!”

We settle down and have our meal. Astrid is right when she said that Jonathan’s food is out of this world. I can taste all the flavours of the food explode on my tongue like Pop Rocks. My compliments go to him too. While we eat, Astrid tells me about life on Faärland as a princess, and its traditions. Ophelia doesn’t say much about her life, other than the fact that she comes from a family in ‘good society’, she wears an eye patch because she has ptosis (the drooping of one eyelid) and she’s been the princess’ lady-in-waiting for almost three years – though Astrid considers Ophelia as a companion to her rather than a personal assistant (which is what a lady-in-waiting really is). Afterwards we have dessert – chocolate and wine fruitcake – and it was scrumptious. I had to scan Astrid’s fruitcake to see if was safe to eat – and it was.

When we finished our dinner Astrid suggests we go to the parlour for some after-dinner drinks – but Ophelia declines, saying that she would like to have an early night. She bids us goodnight and heads to her room. I choose to stay for a nightcap, and Astrid takes me to the parlour.

It is exceptionally large and lavishly decorated. The room displays the best furnishings, the finest works of art I have ever seen and other status symbols. I’m impressed by how grand the room looks – but stop when I see a portrait that catches my eye.

It’s a huge gold-framed oil painting that’s hanging over the fireplace of what appears to be a very happy couple and their daughter. The girl looks to be about two or three years old, with golden-blonde, neck-length hair, large brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and a tiny nose. Her dress appears to be pink with a lighter skirt section, and white tights. On her footsies is a pair of red baby dress-shoes. The girl is sitting on the lap of the woman who looks elegant and delicate-looking, possessing captivating hazel eyes, full red lips and rosy cheeks. Her complexion is fair and flawless, and her face looks refined, giving her appearance of maturity. She is dressed in a beautiful light blue, ivory, and golden gown decorated with lace and a golden bow. Her luxurious platinum blonde hair is upswept. Finally, she wears dangling golden earrings, a golden ribbon choker, and a regal crown to show her royal station. The man is lean, fairly well built and strikingly handsome, with dark brown hair and very neat facial hair (kind of like Robert Downey, Jr. when he plays Tony Stark in the Marvel films), and odd-coloured eyes – the left eye is a dazzling shade of green and the right eye is a dark blue. He’s dressed in a royal outfit that consists of a cream royal jacket, red trousers with a gold stripe, golden belt, black boots and white gloves.

Unlike the other portraits in hanging in the room, this one looks like it was painted only recently – nearly twenty years ago, maybe.

“That’s me when I was around two years old with my parents,” I hear Astrid say. “The portrait was commissioned before my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“It truly is – as was your mother,” I reply. “And your father looks very handsome.”

“Thanks. People say that I look like my mother when I like to think that I’m really like my father. He was a bright, spirited man with a strong passion for adventure and exploration. I remember when he once told me that many years ago when he visited London for a state visit, he snuck out of the Buckingham Palace for a night out on the town and he didn’t come back until the early hours of the following morning.”

“Wow. Your father was a bit of a rebel, wasn’t he?”

“He sure was.” Astrid sighs. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. I miss him so much – mother too, but she died when I was young so I never really got to know her like I did with my father. I had a close relationship with him, and I adored him. What will I do without him – especially since there’s something out there who wants me dead? And there’s also the other matter of me being crowned Queen this weekend. How can a rule a country by myself? I wouldn’t know what to do…”

“I’m sure your father taught you everything you need to know about ruling Faärland before his untimely death. He knows that you will be an amazing Queen, and even though either he or your mother is no longer here to see you be crowned Queen, I’m sure that are watching you from Heaven and that they are both very proud of you. Besides, you will have Niklas and Ophelia by your side so they can teach you what is necessary to be a monarch.”

Astrid is momentarily speechless. Then she breaks into a smile. “Thank you, Jenny. Thank you for those kind words.”

“You’re welcome.”

We settle down in front of the fireplace and Astrid pours us some brandy. She raises her glass and says traditional toast and we both take a deep swig of the brandy. Then Astrid spends the next hour talking more about her parents and her other relatives – Sigurðr, too. I decide to wait until tomorrow to talk about her uncle and his disappearance as she’s already emotional about her parents and the burying of Apollonia.

Soon it was time for us to go to bed, with Astrid promising me a tour of the castle tomorrow. We head upstairs to our rooms – it turns out that the princess’ bedroom is a couple of doors away from mine. We say goodnight to each other and go into our rooms.

I sit at my dressing table and remove my jewellery, make-up and shoes. I’m about to unzip my dress when I realize that I’m still wearing my Camera Contact Lens. I don’t want people who are watching the feed right now see me undress – unless it’s Frank. Maybe I’ll treat him to a little striptease – I bet he’s missing me already. Perhaps I should give him a call and find out how he’s coping without me.

Then a thought occurs to me.

What if someone has come into my room and placed a bug in here? I know the room was clean when I first got here, but I’ve been gone for a few hours. And during that time, the person could have used the opportunity to come in here and hide a bugging device. I need to give this room a quick sweep before I do anything else.

I go over to my bag that’s in the wardrobe and take out the Pen Bug Detector. I twist to activate it and swing it around me, following the lines of the walls. The red light suddenly starts blinking. I walk forward, holding the Pen Bug Detector along the wall. The light blinks faster, more intensely. I reach a portrait, hanging next to the bathroom, depicting an innocent scene of a ship at sea. I twist the top to deactivate and carefully lift the canvas off the wall. Just as I thought – a bug is taped behind it, a black disc about the size of a ten pence piece. It’s obvious that the person who placed the bug is someone in this castle – and this person wants to know what I’m doing every minute of the day and night during my stay here.

I put the painting back. There is only one bug in the room. The bathroom is clean.

There has to be a way to contact MI9 without the person listening in on my conversation. Then an idea comes to me. I can use the Camera Contact Lens to send messages!

I go back to my bag in the wardrobe and take out an A4 notepad. The Pen Bug Detector works as a functioning pen so I use it to write my message. I return to the dressing table and start writing.

When I’m finished, I hold the notepad up in front of me with the following message:

_Hi Frank, I hope you're OK._

_Sorry I can’t get in touch with you. As you saw with the Camera Contact Lens, my room has been bugged. It seems that the person who’s plotting to assassinate Astrid is someone in the castle._

_Anyway, I wanted you to know that I’m all right as I know you’re worried about me (don’t lie). I love and I miss you._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Jenny_

After a minute of holding up the notepad, I tear the paper out and rip it up to pieces. Then I take off the Camera Contact Lens and put them away in its case. I change out of my dress to my pyjamas and I get into bed.

I lie in bed and close my eyes to get to sleep, but questions keep floating around in my head. Who in the castle planted the bug in my room – the same person who is plotting to have Astrid killed? Why do they want her dead? What could have Astrid done to make this person do this? Whatever it is, I’m the only person who can stop them – and I hope I can do it before the coronation.

After spending five minutes of tossing and turning and sighing and pummelling my pillow, I finally settle down and fall asleep.


	54. The Princess and the Agent

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’m awakened by the vibration of my watch-communicator the next morning – and the sun in my face as the curtains are wide open. It must have stopped raining in the middle of the night. I roll to my side and reach for my device on the table next to the bed. It’s just after nine o’clock. It also says that I have a message – and it’s from Frank. I open up the watch-communicator and look at what’s been written.

_Hi Jen, I’m glad you’re all right – and you’re right when you say that I worry about you._

_I saw how your room was bugged since I’ve been watching you through the Camera Contact Lens (genius idea about using the device to send messages). I hope you can stop the person in the castle from carrying out their threat on the princess – but I know you can._

_I love you and I miss you, too._

_Frank_

I smile about how right I was about him worrying about me, and how he knows that I will stop whoever is trying to harm Astrid.

There’s a knock at the door. I swing my legs out of bed, crossing across the room and open it. Niklas is standing outside.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning, Miss Brownstone,” he responds. “Breakfast is waiting for you.”

“Thank you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Very good. I’ll be waiting here for you.”

I nod, and close the door. I gather my stuff and head for the bathroom.

I emerge out of my room fifteen minutes later, fresh as a daisy, dressed and fitted with my Camera Contact Lens. I follow Niklas back down the corridor and to the dining room. Astrid and Ophelia are already seated, having their breakfast.

Astrid is the first to see me. “Good morning, Jenny!” she says.

“Good morning, Astrid, Ophelia,” I respond, taking my seat.

“Morning,” says Ophelia.

“This looks good,” I say, staring at the food laid on the table.

“This is a traditional Faärlandic breakfast,” says Astrid. “We have oatmeal porridge with cranberries and apples, rice porridge pancakes, _sotsuppe_ or sweet soup as its known, with fruit and compote, and _kanelbullar_ or as you would call them, cinnamon rolls.”

“Great!” I take the oatmeal porridge, the fruit soup and a cinnamon roll and dig in. “Oh, wow – this is delicious!”

“I’m glad you like it,” says Astrid. “Listen, I was thinking maybe after breakfast I could give you the grand tour of the castle.”

“I would very much like that.”

“I would come too, but the organizers for your birthday party are coming at around eleven o’clock and I need to assist them with the design, planning and management,” says Ophelia. “Also, later today, there’s the rehearsal for your coronation.”

“Don’t worry, Ophelia – the tour won’t take long,” Astrid tells her. “We’ll be finished before rehearsals.”

We spend another fifteen minutes eating our breakfast. As the butlers come in and clear our table, Ophelia takes off and waits for the arrival of the organizers, while I begin my tour of Harvonia Castle.

Astrid tells me that there are over one hundred rooms in the castle altogether. The castle itself, according to her, has utilized architecture dating back to the 13th century. She takes me to the Great Hall first, located off the entrance hall. It’s where the birthday party and coronation ceremony will take place. It is a spacious room, with large windows kept under deep arches, and large double doors which bring you to the terrace. The garden itself is accessed down a set of steps. By the windows are many assortments of benches decorated with gold brocade upholstery, possibly for guests to sit on during events. There are crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. To the northern part of the room is a path way to the chapel, kept underneath a corbel of Astrid’s emblem.

“Oh, my gosh, Astrid. This room is spectacular!” I say.

“It’ll look even more spectacular when the room is decorated for my birthday and coronation on Saturday,” she says. “Let’s go see the rest of the castle.”

She leads me out of the ballroom and to the other side of the entrance hall to double doors where two doors are located in the short but wide corridor. The first next to where we came in is a staircase that leads to the dungeons, but it has been unused for hundreds of years and it’s out of bounds so no-one goes there. There other door at the end of the corridor is where the kitchen is. It is a gigantic, high-ceilinged room with a stone-flagged floor and a big wooden table and a huge dresser with shiny pots and pans hanging off, and a large brick fireplace at the other end of the hall from the door, just like a Victorian kitchen.

A middle-aged, moustachioed man is preparing a massive cake on the vast kitchen range. His white nylon overall and white cap and black and white trousers look far too modern.

“That’s Jonathan. He’s working on my birthday-slash-coronation cake,” Astrid whispers to me. “It’s best not to disturb him when he’s working. Let’s go.”

Astrid takes me out of the kitchen and shows me the rest of the castle. She shows me the maids and servants’ rooms on the first floor that is divided into two wings: the East Wing and the West Wing. The East Wing is where the female staff stays and the West Wing is where the male staff stays. They also have a dining room where the staff can eat.

Then Astrid takes me to the second floor or as I like to call it, the Entertainment Floor, where there’s a snooker room and private cinema, a theatre and a music room. But my favourite room on the whole floor is the library. It is an extremely large room with a high roof and fret worked walls and roof. There’s a big globe, a writing desk, some paintings, a magnificent fireplace, carpets and a few chairs on the colourful ceramic floor. The library possesses thousands of cupboards and endless books with some staircases that lead to the higher shelves and books; also there are a few ladders in it. There are two long windows with long green curtains that overlook the fountain. The two shelves closest to the main entrance are at least two stories high, while the shelf at the back is three stories in height.

“I can’t believe it! I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!” I exclaim when I see the library. “It’s like being in a bookshop!”

“Well, do many bookshops have a secret passage way?” says Astrid.

My eyes widen. “No way! Are you serious? There’s a secret passage way?”

Astrid nods. “Behind the fireplace is a tunnel that leads to the forest.”

“That is so awesome.”

Once we’re finished in the library, Astrid takes me to the third floor where, of course, are where the dining room and the parlour. But there’s also a bar, an armoury room, a trophy room that displays the trophy heads of animals shot by family members hundreds of years ago, a cabinet room and an art gallery where objects of historical, artistic, and cultural interest, paintings, and antique artefacts are stored.

As the fourth floor consists of the royal guest rooms, I’m taken up to the fifth floor where the bedrooms of the royal family are. Astrid shows me her room first – it is decorated with assortments of paintings and plants, as well as pottery. The polished wooden floor is carpeted in two areas; one carpet outlines the bed area, while the other outlines the door. In the northern side of the room, is Astrid’s bed, which is elevated by an extra layer of flooring, and has a curled up curtain to the sides of it, as well as a wall of leaves decorating the above area. And to the right side of her bed is a fireplace with a mirror over it.

“Your room is gorgeous, Astrid,” I say.

“Thanks,” she replies. “But after Saturday, it won’t be my room anymore. Let me show you the master, or in this case, the mistress suite.”

She takes me to the far end of the corridor. The suite is large and contains, a desk, a bookcase, a four-poster bed and is decorated with portraits. There is also a balcony – I’m guessing all the rooms on this floor have a balcony.

“Wow. This really is a room fit for a king – or in this case, a queen,” I say.

“Thank you,” says Astrid. “Come on – we still have a couple of more rooms to look at.”

We leave the large suite and head up the big flight of stairs. The last room in the castle is the throne room. The room is large and luxurious. A throne is set up with a raised elaborate pomp, with red-carpeted steps, and under a canopy, appropriately decorated with a relief of a peacock which reflects the fitting style for a regal woman.

“Beautiful…” I breathe.

“If you think this room’s beautiful, wait until I saw you the last room in the castle,” says Astrid. “It’s also my favourite room.”

Astrid takes my hand and together we run down the corridor and stop in the centre where a large framed portrait of a young girl with flowers takes up one panel of the wall. Suddenly, Astrid pulls the portrait and it pivots out with a piece of the wall… to reveal a passage!

“Oh, my God! It’s a secret door!” I cry.

Astrid grins. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she says, and goes through the door, with me following after her.

Astrid flicks on the light, but there is nothing much to see – a little round room with a stone spiral staircase leading upwards.

“The stairs are a bit steep, but trust me it’ll be worth the climb,” Astrid tells me.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say. “Let’s go.” I hold on to the railing and start climbing.

We climb up and up and up. I can feel myself starting to pant heavily, and my legs and bottom tightening up, but I soldier on. Like Astrid said, it’ll be worth the climb.

I edge upwards, holding my breath at each step – and then at last I look up and see the room above me. I decide to run the rest of the way, excited to see what is in store for me. I step up into the room.

It’s like stepping into a fairytale! The sun shines through the lozenge-shaped leaded windows. There’s a soft Persian rug on the floor, patterned birds and roses. Tapestry wall-hangings are pinned all-round the room, with woven castles and pale people with tall hats and long pointy feet. There are gold-framed paintings too, of women in dark velvet gowns with long wavy hair falling about their shoulders. Bookshelves run around the walls, with big red and white books with gold lettering on the spines. There’s even a rose velvet sofa covered with soft shawls and cushions. It’s small, but even so it must have been a terrible struggle to get it up the winding staircase.

“Wow…” I whisper. “This room is… incredible.”

“This is the tower room – my mother’s secret room,” says Astrid. “She used to come up here and just… relax. Either reading books or gazing out the windows and daydreaming.”

“Did your mother take you up here?”

Astrid shakes her head. “I didn’t discover this place until I was about ten, eleven years old. I had a pet dog – a Scandinavian Hound called Sven – and I was looking for him as he had run off. I looked everywhere for him – I searched in every room. I was just about to give up when I saw one of doors open. But it wasn’t like any door I’ve seen – this one was a door with a secret staircase. I climbed up the spiral stairs, not knowing what I will find at the top… until I heard barking. Sven must have known that there was a door behind the painting and went through it. When I found him, I was in awe, just like you were right now. I just love how this room isolates itself from the rest of the castle – it’s like living in your own private world.”

“You’re not kidding. I mean look at this view: you can see forever,” I say, looking out the window to the sight of the lush green rolling hills and the forest. “This really was worth the climb. It’s a very beautiful room – romantic, too.”

“I think so too. And I’m afraid that’s the end of the tour. Let’s go down to the garden – it’s a nice day.”

We go back down the spiral stairs and out of the tower altogether. Then we head down to the Great Hall where the organizers have arrived, with Ophelia assisting them. We head out the double doors onto the terrace, and down the steps to the garden where we go on a walkabout.

“You have a very pleasant,” I say to Astrid. “I’ve never seen another like it – and I’ve been to Kew Gardens.”

She smiles in response. “The garden was laid out in 1850, taking inspiration from the French formal style of the Gardens of Versailles,” she tells me. “The total landscaped area is one thousand, three hundred and seventy-nine acres.”

I give a low whistle. “That’s a lot of land. And I suppose the architect threw in the lights in the trees, too.”

“Oh, that. My father had the servants put them up for me. You see when I was little… I used to be scared of the dark. I used to spend my nights sneaking into my father’s room and sleeping in his bed. Then one night when the lights in my room went out, the lights in the garden came on. They acted as my nightlight. I was able to sleep at night in my own room with those lights – even when I stopped fearing the dark.”

“Ah.”

We stay silent for the next few minutes, enjoying our surroundings – nothing but nature and the fresh air and the trilling and chirping of the birds. It’s so peaceful and tranquil – not to mention beautifully warm. We stop at one of the ponds, admiring the koi and goldfish swimming around.

“You know I’ve told you so much about me, I don’t know anything about you,” says Astrid. “I mean you’re going to be here for a bit, I might as well get to know you.”

“Well… I don’t know if give out certain information,” I say with uncertainty.

“I don’t need to know your line of work – I kind of figured that out already. I want to know about your personal life – the woman outside MI9.”

“Oh. Right, well… Well, as you know, I live in London – as does my family: my mum, my dad, my sister, and my auntie and uncle. I’m very athletic and I love to play sports, especially football, video games, and I enjoy shopping, drawing and Chinese cuisine. I also have a fiancé whom I’m marrying in a few weeks’ time.”

Astrid gasps. “You’re getting married? Congratulations! I never would have thought that a secret agent like you had time for a relationship. I suppose this man knows what he’s in for, huh?”

“Yes, he does – he’s a secret agent, too. Although he works in tech rather than a field agent, like me. He’s the brain to my brawn.”

“He must be really something special.”

“He sure is. What about you? Have you got a bit on the side?”

Astrid is about to answer when something shoots past her head. “Just a silly wasp,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “Anyway I was about to say that there is no-one at the moment, but soon I hope I find my Mr. Right, as you British would say.”

“Don’t worry; I’m sure he’s out there somewhere. Let’s go back inside – we can help assist Ophelia with the decorations.”

“Good idea.”

We start to head back to the castle – and there’s a reason for the quick exit. What Astrid thought was a wasp that whizzed past her head, it was actually a bullet. It narrowly missed her by a tiny margin and instead hit a small bird that is now lying dead on the grassy path just a few yards from where the princess stood, with a small black hole in its breast and blood spilling out of it. This person was either brave or stupid to try and pull a stunt like that. I have to try and find out who this person is – and fast – before they strike again.

The day passes. After assisting Ophelia with the decoration in the Great Hall we have our lunch, with me scanning Astrid’s food to see if anything unpleasant has been added – it hasn’t. Then Astrid and I hang out up in tower for a couple of hours before returning to the Great Hall for the princess’ rehearsal of her coronation.

A few hours later we settle down for dinner. Tonight it’s dried blueberry and mushroom soup with steamed orange and mustard buns and slow-cooked peach and vinegar salad as a side dish. Once again, I’m on hand to scan the contents of Astrid’s dish to check for poisons – as well as her vanilla cheesecake dessert – and once again the food is safe enough to eat.

Or so I thought…

About an hour after dinner, Astrid, Ophelia and I are in the parlour enjoying an after-dinner drink and talking more about the coronation when suddenly Ophelia clutches her stomach and hisses in pain.

“Ophelia? Are you all right?” Astrid asks.

“No, I… I don’t feel so good,” she mumbles as she stands up, but can barely keep herself upright. “Oh, I-I feel dizzy…” Ophelia sways and her knees give out as she falls. Fortunately, I’m here to catch her.

“Astrid, call for an ambulance,” I instruct, putting Ophelia in a recovery position. I feel her forehead – she is burning up. “Don’t worry, Ophelia, the ambulance will be here,” I say.

“J-Jenny…” she heaves. “I-I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be… oh… oooooh…”

I can only watch as Ophelia throws up. She horribly revoltingly disgustingly throws up on the floor – again and again and again. Tears stream down her pale face as well as sweat and her body starts to twitch convulsively.

“The ambulance is on their way,” Astrid tells me. “What should we do until they arrive?”

“The only thing we can do is make Ophelia as comfortable as possible,” I reply.

And for the next seventeen minutes that’s what we do. The paramedic comes into the parlour with Astrid in tow as she led him here – along with Niklas and a few of the staff members wondering what is going on. After I explain the situation to them, Niklas instructs the paramedic to take Ophelia to her room rather than the hospital as the nearest one from which the ambulance came from is twenty or so miles away.

Astrid, Niklas and I wait patiently outside Ophelia’s room while the paramedic checks on her. After nearly twenty minutes he comes out.

“How is Ophelia? Is she all right?” Astrid asks.

“Miss Ingebreston is stable but otherwise fine,” says the paramedic.

“Do you know what happened to her?” I ask.

“We believe that Miss Ingebreston is suffering from a mild form of gastroenteritis.”

“You mean a stomach bug?”

“Yes. The symptoms include nausea, vomiting, and severe diarrhoea. This combination can lead to dehydration, muscle spasms, and circulatory collapse.”

“Do you know what could have caused her illness?”

“My guess would be either being food that has gone past its sell-by date or the food itself was contaminated. But you needn’t worry – the gastroenteritis can resolve without treatment in a couple of days. You just need to keep a close eye on her.”

“We will, Doctor. Thank you for coming,” says Niklas, and shows the paramedic out.

“Come on, Astrid. We should let Ophelia rest,” I say. We head back down to the bar as the servants are busy shampooing the carpet in the parlour and calm ourselves with some brandy. I notice how quiet Astrid is when I hand her a glass.

“Astrid? You all right?” I ask.

No reply.

“There’s no need to be upset. You heard what the paramedic said. Ophelia will soon be up and running in a few days – just in time for your birthday-slash-coronation,” I say.

The princess is silent for another moment before she speaks.

“That plate of food wasn’t meant for Ophelia was it?” she says quietly. “It was meant for me. It should be me lying in bed with the stomach bug, not her.”

“Now you don’t know that, Astrid,” I say. “Maybe the food was meant for me, seeing that I’m the one who has to protect you. Or maybe Jonathan accidentally used food that was past its sell-by date when he was making the dinner…”

“Jonathan would never do that to me! He has cooking for my family for nearly twenty years. And he would never so much as use ingredients that is about to or has already expired – he would have had them thrown away than use them in any of his recipes. Second of all, given that someone has been trying to kill me for the last few weeks I think it’s safe – or unsafe – to say that that meal was for me! I mean, what could I have done to make this person want to kill me? I’m a kind and pleasant person, beloved by everyone. I’ve never treated anyone spitefully or unfairly or spoke badly to or about them. I just don’t understand why I’m being targeted, OK? I just don’t…”

Astrid is red in the face, tears spurting down her cheeks. It seems that these past few weeks she’s been trying to stay strong, but now because of the death of Apollonia and Ophelia taken ill, the floodgates have finally burst open.

“Oh, Astrid. Hey, don’t cry,” I say, hugging her. “Look, I don’t understand why this person is targeting you either. I see that you’re a good person who in a few days is going to be a great queen. But rest assure I’ll be on hand to find this person and give them a right beating. MI9 know that when it comes to someone who wants to make someone else’s life a misery and needs their arse kicked, I’m the person for the job.”

“Oh, Jenny,” Astrid giggles weakly, hugging me back. She sniffs. Her eyes are still brimming. “I’m so glad MI9 picked you for this mission. You are a truly wonderful friend.”

I take hold of her shoulders. “Stay strong, princess. Don’t let this prick win – if you pardon my French. Don’t let him see that you’re in a vulnerable position. Keep calm and carry on – that’s what we Brits say. Just hold on for a few more days and I promise you that he’ll be arrested before you have a chance to blow out the candles on your cake and have everyone sing ‘Congratulations’ by Cliff Richard. Is that a deal?”

Astrid nods, causing the tears to run down her cheeks. “It’s a deal.”

“Good. Now let’s dry those eyes and get that brandy down you and we’ll hop off to bed.”

Astrid straightens up and dabs her eyes with her handkerchief, and then downs the brandy in one fell swoop – as down I. We had back upstairs and say goodnight to each other before entering our rooms.

Once inside I bring out my notepad and pen and sit at the dressing table where I write my messages about Astrid’s near misses – what they already saw with the food poisoning and the ‘wasp’ that turned out to be a bullet that killed the bird in the garden this afternoon. I write that I’ll begin asking the staff if they hold any grudges against the princess.

After writing up the message and holding it in front of me, I take out the Camera Contact Lens and get changed into my pyjamas. I hop into bed where for a second night in a row sleep takes a long time to come.

xxoOoxx

 Astrid and I are driven into Schonan the next morning. Astrid didn’t want to spend the day cooped up in the castle – nor did she wanted to have any breakfast in case her assassin succeeded in poisoning her – and wanted to show me the sights of the city. Before we left I gave the princess the Tracking Brooch Device should we become separated. I also bring along with me the Tangled Net Grenade and the Hologram Projecting Earrings. You can never be too careful if you get caught up with the paparazzi – or would-be kidnappers.

“Tourism is a major industry of Schonan due to its famous landmarks, such as the Grand Metropolitan Hotel, and the Schonan Museum,” Astrid tells me when we arrive at the city. “And as your unofficial tourist guide, I’m here to show you the sights of the city.”

We stop at a plaza that’s located at the intersection of all the streets in Schonan, and Astrid tells the driver to meet us back here at four o’clock. Then we step out of the car and begin our sightseeing.

We spend the morning seeing the sights of the bustling capital city, visiting the prime locations and top attractions including historical museums, striking parks, and modern galleries. When that’s done we spend the next hour and a half punting on the canal, exploring  lesser-known areas of Schonan, with Astrid entertaining me with interesting facts and stories. By the time that’s finished it is lunchtime. We head back to the plaza and order ourselves kringle topped with flaked almonds from a small stand.

“That was one amazing tour, Astrid. I can’t thank you enough for showing me around,” I say.  “It’s like you know this city like the back of your hand.”

“You can thank my Uncle Sigurðr for that – he used to bring me here on the weekends,” she says. She sighs. “You know, I haven’t heard from him for nearly a week. He left no note, and he hasn’t called to say where he’s gone or when he’s coming back.”

“Don’t worry – I’m sure he’ll be back before your coronation.”

“Me too. Anyway, look at me getting all flustered. I need to do something that will cheer me up – and I’ve got just the thing.”

We spend hours and hours and hours walking around the Schonan with bags of shopping that Astrid purchased from the shops and boutiques. She’s got enough clothes, shoes and make-up to start up her own shop.

But as we go from shop to shop I can’t help feeling that there’s someone following us. I look behind me, but there’s no-one suspicious-looking to be found. I like to think that it’s only my imagination but I like to keep my wits about me. While we’re out here, everyone is a suspect.

Anyway, as we leave a corner boutique with some accessories and we make our way down the boulevard, something catches my eye that makes me stop in my tracks.

It’s from a dress shop window – the most glamorous satin ball gown I have ever seen. A full skirt, sheer black sleeves and a beautifully tailored, off-the-shoulder bodice define the brilliant turquoise gown. A striking black ribbon accents the waist and black opera-length gloves adorn the arms of the mannequin. A dazzling diamond brooch adds the final sophisticated touches.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

“Is it, isn’t it?” I hear Astrid say, causing me to jump nearly a mile high. “And it would look incredible on you. Hey, how about I get it for you?”

“What?! Oh, no, no. Please, you don’t have…”

“But I want to. Think of it as a gift for doing such a good job. Besides, you need something to wear for my coronation.” Then Astrid dashes into the shop before I can protest. She doesn’t need to buy me anything just because I’m doing a great job – though it would be nice if people who I escorted did buy me nice things.

I’m about to enter the shop myself when that niggling feeling of being followed comes back to me. I glance over my shoulder, but no-one is there – just people going on about their business. I’m about to dismiss the fact that my mind is playing tricks on me when I catch a glimpse on the shop window of a small gang on the other side of the road. There’s about six of them: two young, reckless women in punk rock attire and four young brutish men wearing studded leather clothing. They’re not saying much, just laughing and smirking. But the way they keep looking in this direction – the way they keep looking at me. It’s as if I’m an alien from a planet. Maybe it’s not me they’re after. Maybe it’s Astrid – I can’t be too sure.

“Beep beep, coming through!” I nearly jump again at the sound of Astrid’s voice. She giggles. “That’s the second time you’ve done that – within the time of ten minutes. Anyway, I’ve paid for the gown, along with some accessories that go with it. I’ll have someone from the castle come to pick it up on Friday. Let’s go visit a few more shops before we head for the plaza.”

We set off again to the next shop. As we walk, I discreetly glance sideways at the shop windows, and it seems my suspicions have been confirmed. That silly little gang of punks are following us. But again, I’m not too sure – maybe it’s just a coincidence that they’re heading in the same direction that Astrid and I are taking. Maybe there’s a shop just up ahead that sell giant cans of hairspray and giant tubs of hair gel so that their spikes and mohawks can stay up.

But I’m afraid that’s not the case – for as we enter the shop and Astrid has a look around, the punk gang wait outside the shop, keeping their distance.

And they keep their distance in the next two shops we go in.

It’s obvious that the assassin has hired these punks to kidnap the princess so he can finish her off. I’ve got to stop that from happening.

“Finished!” says Astrid. “Just one more shop and we’re done.”

We come out of the shop head up the avenue. I glance at the window and see that the gang are crossing the road. They are definitely following – and they are definitely after Astrid. I need a plan to stop these punks in their tracks – they’re starting to catch up to us.

“Er, Astrid, let’s step in here,” I say hastily, and I drag her into a designer fashion and luxury boutique. I grab some jeans and shirts and skirts and jackets, and some sweaters and I push Astrid to the changing rooms where we squeeze into one of the cubicles.

“Jenny, what is going on? Why did you pull me in here?” Astrid asks, bewildered.

I drop the clothes at our feet and I take a moment to get my breath back. “OK,” I begin. “Now, Astrid, I don’t want you to panic, but… we’re being followed.”

“What? Who’s following us?”

“A gang of punks – and I think they’re after you.”

“But why? Unless…”

I nod. “Your assassin. They’ve probably hired these punks to kidnap you. But you needn’t worry – I’m not going to let that happen. I’ve got a plan – and it’s going to involve this.” I point to my Hologram Projecting Earring.

“How is that going to help?”

I smile at Astrid and tug the earring. A holographic image of me appears.

 “Oh, my goodness!” Astrid gasps. “How is that possible?”

“She’s a hologram – enough said,” I reply in a hushed tone. “Now listen very carefully – I’m going to leave the cubicle and find a way to get that gang of would-be kidnappers off our backs while you stay here with the hologram.”

“Why does the hologram have to be here?”

“You’ll see. Now, when I come back I will give a special knock on the door – that’ll let you know it’s me. You come out of the changing room and together we’ll calmly – very calmly – leave the shop. OK?”

Astrid nods. “OK.”

I turn to Holographic Jenny. “If I’m not back in five minutes, you take the princess to the plaza – there’ll be a car waiting for her to take her back to the castle. Got it?”

“Affirmative,” she replies.

“Good.” I turn back to Astrid. “You’ve got the Tracking Brooch Device on you should anything happen to you – but I know it won’t. Now wish me luck – and try not to freak out when this happens.”

Before the princess can question what I mean, I activate my cloaking device and I turn invisible. I thought Astrid would scream, but instead she’s standing stock-still, too stunned to say anything – or scream.

“Right. Here goes,” I say, and I open the cubicle door. When I see that the coast is clear, I come out of the cubicle and leave the changing room.

It seems that the punks know that I’m onto them – they’re in the shop ‘having a look around’ and they don’t intend on leaving until the princess leaves. And it seems that I’m not the only one who doesn’t want them here – two security men on two ends of the shop floor are giving the gang the eye. An idea comes to me – maybe there is a way to get these wannabe kidnappers off our backs.

I go over to the accessories case against one wall of the shop. It’s filled with belts, gloves, jewellery, watches, shawls, scarves, socks, and stockings. I look around to see if anyone is coming this way. There are very few people in the shop and the security men are too busy making sure that the punk gang doesn’t steal anything… not knowing that they will steal something – because I’ll be the one who will make it look like look they stole something.

My hand reaches out, quick as a wink. I snatch some of the jewellery, watches, scarves and socks from the shelves. I look around – no-one has seen me – or no-one has seen an invisible figure take fashion accessories from the shelves. I creep to one of the punk guys and carefully place some of the jewellery in his pocket. I move to the next gang member and put some watches in his pocket. I creep up to each member of the punk gang and put the accessory in their pockets, being careful not to let the security men see what is happening. I’m done by the time I’ve tied the scarf to the punk girl’s leg. I straighten myself out and head back to the changing rooms. I approach the cubicle that Astrid and the hologram are in and do the special knock on the door, tapping the first five notes of ‘Shave and a Haircut’, with a response of ‘two bits’ from the other side. The door opens and I enter the cubicle.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say, and I become visible. I turn to Holographic Jenny. “Well done for responding to the knocking rhythm of ‘Shave and a Haircut’.”

The hologram gives a small smile in response. I tug my earring and my hologram disappears.

I turn to Astrid. “The trap has been set. Are you ready?”

“I think so,” she says.

“Now remember to act as if you’re not being followed. Try and be normal – just until we’re a few shops down, OK.”

Astrid nods. I pick up the clothes that I picked out when we entered the shop. We leave the cubicle and the changing room. We casually put all the clothes back from where I got them and together we leave the shop.

Suddenly a loud, shrill noise cuts through the air. Astrid and I are some distance away from the shop. We look over our shoulders to see the security men pinning the arms of the punk gang. One of them is calling for the police. Everyone in the street is staring and pointing and tutting.

“I told you I could get them off our backs,” I say to Astrid with a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

But then people are shouting. I turn.

The gang is coming after us.

“Shit!” I cry. I grab Astrid’s hand and we run. We race up the avenue, our feet pounding on the pavement. We fly through crowds, past the small shops and cafés, running red lights and green lights and everything in between.

I glance over my shoulder and see the pissed off expressions on the punk gang’s faces, and the shell-shocked pedestrians that we are leaving in our wake.

“Jenny, I don’t think we can outrun them!” Astrid yells – and she’s right. The gang are starting to get close – only eight, maybe seven steps behind us. There has to be a way to get rid of these losers.

Just up ahead there’s a young man with long hair and glasses playing a beautiful melody on his acoustic guitar. He’s playing next to a café, and if I remember correctly from my three-hour shopping spree, next to that café is a narrow street.

“I’ve got an idea,” I say to Astrid. “This way.”

We run into the narrow street – a back alley with a number of dumpsters and rubbish bins lined up against its sides. I skid to a stop.

“Huh?” Astrid stops and rushes over to me. “Why are you stopping – we have to go!”

“No – I’m staying so I can teach these punks a lesson and make sure they stay off our backs,” I say. “You’ll be the one who’s going – but you won’t be alone.” I tug my earrings and four holographic images of me appear. “These holograms will take you to the plaza where the car is waiting for you. Should anything happen – and I pray to God it doesn’t – I’ll be able to use my watch-communicator track you down on your Tracking Brooch Device. Holograms, keep the princess safe. Make sure you don’t let anything happen to her. Understand?”

“Affirmative,” the holograms respond.

“Good. Now go – get out of here!”

The holograms take Astrid and dash down the alley at full speed – just as the punks enter the alley.

“All right, missy, where’s the princess?” the punk guy with the bright blue spiky hair demands. I can only presume he’s the leader

“She’s long gone,” I say. “Good luck trying to find her.”

“I think I’ll take that chance.” He turns to one of the punk guys and the two punk girls. “Head for the plaza – that’s probably where her Royal Brattiness will be going. We’ll stay here and take care of this one.”

The three chosen punks nod and they backtrack out of the alley and hurry to the park.

“It’s just you and us now, girlie,” the punk leader smirks – as does his two friends.

“Fine by me, pin cushion,” I say, assuming a fighting stance. “Bring it on!”

The leader charges at me – but I’m much faster than him, dashing towards him at a fast speed.

“What!” the leader exclaims when I suddenly appear in front of him. I launch a flurry of punches which move faster than the eye can see to every single section of his body.

“What!?” the two punk guys cry, their eyes wide with terror, when they see how beaten up their leader is by my quick attack.

The leader isn’t much too pleased. “Y… You…!” he cries, lunge punching for my face. At the last moment, I sidestep and deliver a stabbing kick to his midsection, and then I finish him off by smashing my elbow into his nose, sending him flying.

“Take that, arsehole!” I say as he lands on his back.

“Stig!” the punk guys cry as their leader lies unconscious with a battered body, and a broken and bloody nose.

“You’re gonna pay for this, bitch!” says the punk with the purple mohawk. He runs towards me, ready to launch himself at me, but I leap up and place both hands around his head, fall back, and using the combined forces of my legs and inertia to throw Purple Mohawk over my head.

“Aagh!” he cries when he lands painfully on his back.

I get back on my feet see the third punk with crimson red liberty spikes racing up to me. I flip over him and deliver a fast kick to his back, sending him crashing on top of Purple Mohawk. But no sooner is Liberty Spikes on the ground; Purple Mohawk climbs onto his feet. He digs into his pocket and draws out a butterfly knife, performing a complex, flashy and noisy flip. He lunges towards me, but I jump into the air and kick his hand to do damage and knock the weapon from his hand. I catch the knife by the handle, doing my own flashy moves up against Purple Mohawk’s throat. I pause to enjoy the scared shitless look on his face, and then knock him out with a punch.

Liberty Spikes is back on his back feet again. He charges towards me and throws a low front kick. I go to block, only to find it is a fake for a wheel kick that hits me in the face. I stagger, wincing. Ow, that smarts.

“Now I’m really gonna kick your keister, bitch!” says Liberty Spikes.

That’s what he thinks.

He lunges at me, ready to kill me. I don’t move. At the last moment, I raise my hand, palm out, and intercept Liberty Spikes’ fist. He stops dead in his tracks. A sly smile spreads across my face as I slowly apply pressure to Liberty Spikes’ fist, forcing him down to his knees. Then I kick him in the head, knocking him out.

I let out a sigh. The battle is finished. I turn to walk away when a voice says, “Hold it right there!” I turn to see the punk leader, Stig, staggering to his feet. “I’m not finished with you, yet. Prepare for the beating of your life!”

He charges towards like a bull seeing a red rag, but I roll my eyes – I don’t have time for him. I dig into my pocket and bring out the Tangled Net Grenade. I throw the gadget at him and as soon as it hits the punk, a wire net is released from the gadget, and Stig gets tangled up, the net forcibly constricting him.

“Hey – what the hell is this?” Stig cries, struggling in his restraints. “Get this thing off me!”

“Sorry, hon, love to stay and play, but I’ve got a princess to protect!” I say, and I take off out of the alley to catch up with Astrid and the holograms.

I use my watch-communicator to track Astrid’s movements. She’s nearly at the plaza, but there’s the matter of the other three punk gang members to deal with. I’ve got to stop them before they reach the princess.

I arrive at the plaza, dashing across the intersection diagonally, barely dodging cars in my wake. I don’t see Astrid or the holograms – they must be over on the other side. I sprint across the park, dashing past people walking their dogs, children at the play area, and the food stalls.

I’m nearly halfway across the plaza, just reaching the large flowing fountain in the centre, when I hear someone call my name. “Jenny!”

I stop and turn to see Astrid and the holograms coming towards me. They must have taken the long way round to the plaza.

Astrid catches up to me. “Jenny, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply. “Are you OK?”

The princess is about to answer when a voice yells out, “There they are!”

I whirl around and find the three punks running towards us. They must been waiting for the Astrid.

“All right, Little Miss Bodyguard – you have about five seconds to hand over the princess,” says the punk girl with neon dreadlocks.

“Or you’ll do what?” I ask.

“Or we’ll rearrange that pretty face of yours and your sisters and take the princess from you!” the other punk girl says, and the two gang members nod in agreement.

“Then so be it.”

The gang charge towards me, ready to rearrange my pretty face. I don’t intend on fighting them – especially out here in the open where people can see. Instead I take out three more Tangled Net Grenades and throw them at the punks. The net ensnares the trio and as they try to free themselves, they unknowingly trip up over a stone and fall into the fountain. People are pointing and laughing at the thugs as flail around helplessly, trapped like a bunch of fish, ready to start dying – even though they’re not.

“That’s them sorted,” I say, dusting my hands. “Come on, Astrid, we better get out of here before more would-be kidnappers show up.”

We leave the soaking wet and entangled punks and head out of the plaza to where the car is waiting for us. I open the door for Astrid and she gets in – followed by the holograms and then myself. As soon as I close the door and we go on our way, I tug the earring and the four holograms disappear. Then I lean into my seat and let out a sigh. “What a day!” I say. “Who would have thought shopping would become a dangerous pastime?”

“Me too,” says Astrid, leaning back. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“How did my assassin know where I would be? Only Niklas knows where you and I were going to be, and yet my assassin knew. Why?”

I sigh. It’s time she knew the truth. “Astrid… I’m really sorry to tell you this, but… your assassin is someone working at Harvonia Castle.”

“What?!” she gasps. “You mean one of the servants wants me out of the way?”

I nod.

“Oh.” Astrid doesn’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say! She turns away from me and stares out of the window. She remains silent for the duration of the journey.

When we return to the castle, Astrid climbs out of the car, leaving her shopping behind and rushes inside. I make no attempt in stopping her – it’s better to give her some space. I take the shopping out of the car and hand them to the servants who are waiting, and they take them to Astrid’s room. Niklas is there too.

“Is everything all right, Miss Brownstone?” he asks, coming up to me. “I just saw Princess Astrid and she seemed most upset.”

“No, Niklas, everything is not all right,” I reply. “There’s something I have to tell you. May we speak privately?”

The Royal advisor nods and we head up to the library. We sit on the chairs by the fireplace and I tell Niklas everything: the bugging device in my room, Astrid’s close-call in the garden yesterday with a bullet hitting a bird instead of her, the possibility of having her food laced with poison despite Ophelia having that meal and today when we escaped the gang of punks.

“All this leads to an employee of the castle making the threats on the princess’ life,” I tell Niklas.

“I see,” he says. “And do you know who could be the one responsible?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. However, there’s one…” I pause. Should I say it?

“There’s one what, Miss Brownstone?”

“I was thinking if may not be an employee, but someone who is very close to the princess. In fact, you haven’t heard from him in a week.”

“You mean her uncle, the Prince Regent Sigurðr.”

I nod. “He disappears without a trace, leaving no note or a phone call explaining where he’s gone or when he’s coming back. At the same time, attempts have been made on his niece’s life. All this is happening before the coronation.”

“Are you suggesting that the Prince Regent could be responsible for trying to assassinate his niece?”

“Yes, no, maybe, I don’t know.” I sigh. “Look, there’s someone in this castle who doesn’t want Astrid to be queen or someone hates her guts enough to want to try and kill her. Either way, I’ve only got a few days to find this person and wrap this case up, otherwise…” I daren’t to finish my sentence.

Niklas and I sit quietly for what could be an eternity, but instead it’s only been a minute.

Then Niklas speaks up. “My dear lady,” he starts, “I have been working for the Royal family for over thirty years. I have seen and heard things that I would never pass on to another soul. But to hear you accuse Prince Regent Sigurðr of trying to assassinate his niece is something too bad to be tolerated. When the Queen of Faärland died when the princess was young, her father, King Andreas, was there to comfort her – as was the King’s brother, the Prince Regent. When the King passed away last year, the Prince Regent was there to comfort her – just like he did all those years ago. What I am trying to say, Miss Brownstone, is that Sigurðr Andreasen is not capable of attempting to kill his niece. He loves her – he treats her as if she was his own child. He would rather die than take the life of someone he loves.”

I sit speechless after what Niklas said. He’s right – how can I accuse a relative of doing such a horrible thing? This isn’t what you see in TV soaps or films, this is real life.

“Niklas, I… I’m sorry,” I say. “After hearing what you said about Prince Regent Sigurðr not wanting to harm the princess, I now know he isn’t the person responsible for what has been happening, and for that I apologize.”

“That’s quite all right, Miss Brownstone,” he says. “You should also know that the Prince Regent is a pacifist. He believes that war and violence are unjustifiable, so now you know for certain that he’s not your assassin.”

I nod in affirmation.

“I will have a talk to with the staff and the severe punishment that will fall upon them if they are found responsible,” says Niklas. “And I’ll have the bugging device removed from your room.”

“No, you can’t,” I exclaim. “If you remove it, the assassin will know that I’m onto them. You have to leave the device where it is until I can find the person who put it there.”

“Very well – the bug stays. But I’ll still have a word with the staff.” Niklas stands up and is about to head out when he says, “You should know that I am not who you’re looking for either. I am loyal to the princess and will continue to be loyal to her until the day I die.”

And with that, Niklas exits out of the library.

I’m still in my seat, trying to get my head around the fact that it’s not the Prince Regent who’s out to kill Astrid. Nor is it Niklas – but I’m not too sure. I mean he was the only one who knew where Astrid was going. He could have been the one to have called up the punks and tell them to take out the princess. But knowing him, he’s not too keen on using something as tech-savvy as the smartphone. OK, maybe it’s not Niklas – and it’s certainly not Ophelia, she still has the stomach bug, so she would have been sleeping all day…

Suddenly, another thought comes to me. What if the Prince Regent was kidnapped by the assassin? Maybe Sigurðr knew what the assassin was up to and had to be silence, just until Astrid was out of the way.

So not only is the assassin trying to murder the princess, they may have kidnapped the Prince Regent and could murder him afterwards.

What a mission this is turning out to be.


	55. Into the Woods

**(Jenny’s POV)**

Breakfast is silent the next day – well, for me anyway. I’m the only one having it. Ophelia is still making a recovery – Niklas says that she’ll be up and about by tomorrow – and I haven’t seen Astrid since we came back from Schonan yesterday afternoon. She didn’t show up for dinner so I had to have my meal in my room, by myself.

A part of me wished that I hadn’t told her. I should have kept my mouth shut and not said anything. But then again, now that she knows that the person who wants her gone works in the castle, we’ll be able to find out whom holds the biggest grudge against her.

The door opens, startling me. Astrid enters the room. She looks a little worse for wear – her tense, pale face and the dark circles under her eyes tells me that she didn’t get much sleep.

“Good morning, Astrid,” I say.

“Morning,” she replies in a mumble. She takes her seat and quietly nibbles her breakfast of porridge and wholegrain bread. (I checked the food before I dug into my share and it’s safe to eat.)

“How are you today?” I ask.

“Fine,” the princess utters quietly.

The silence is deafening as we eat our breakfast. It goes on for five minutes – and I can’t stand it!

“I’m so sorry, Astrid!” I blurt out.

“Pardon me?” she says, putting down her bread and turning to me.

“I shouldn’t have told you about who is after you. I should have kept it to myself until I was absolutely certain. But now I’ve gone and opened my mouth, and I’ve upset you and made you even more scared and I just like to say that I’m really, really sorry!”

Astrid sits still for a moment. I hold my breath. “Oh, Jenny,” she says. “There’s no need to apologize – I’m glad you told me. I’m just upset because the person who has worked for me and my family for many years wants me dead – and I do not know why. I treat everyone with the same respect as I would with you. If I do anything wrong to them, I would apologize. I just can’t get my head around the fact that someone would resent me so much they would want to kill me.”

“Well, Niklas is going to have a talk with them today and get to the bottom of it himself. There’s also something you should know.”

“What is it?”

I take a deep breath. “There’s a chance that the assassin may have taken your uncle,” I say. “The Prince Regent may have stumbled upon the assassin’s plans and tried to call the authorities, but instead he was taken and the assassin made it look like that your uncle left abruptly on a business trip, but he’s being kept somewhere until you’re out of the way. Where, I do not know. But know this: when I find the assassin, I will do everything humanly possible to get the truth out of him on the whereabouts of your uncle.”

Astrid seems to have perked up after my little speech. “Once again, Jenny, you have restored my faith knowing that you will find the person responsible for their dreadful crime,” she says. “Thank you.”

I respond with a smile. “You’re welcome.”

We carry on eating our breakfast, the tension in the air now evaporated. Just as we finished our meal, there’s a knock at the door. Niklas comes in, telling Astrid that she is needed in the Great Hall for another coronation rehearsal.

I watch Astrid prepare for the ceremony, with help from Niklas about what she has to say and do. The rehearsal goes on all morning.

“Well, that’s rehearsals done for until this evening,” says Astrid when she’s finished. “I wonder what we can do this afternoon.” After a short pause – “Oh, I know! Niklas – have a car prepared for me. I’m going to pay a visit to the Hallmans.”

“Very good, Ma’am,” he replies and heads out of the Great Hall.

“Who are the Hallmans?” I ask.

“They’re a family of farmers who live on the other side of the woods,” Astrid replies. “I haven’t seen them in weeks because of what’s been happening, and I figure I better visit them before the coronation. But first, a change of clothes is needed. You’ll have to get changed too.”

We both head up to our rooms and quickly get dressed in farmer-friendly outfits. Well I say farmer-friendly, I’m dressed in a patterned tunic with a denim cropped jacket on top, blue jeans and tall grey boots while Astrid is wearing a tweed jacket with a white shirt underneath, beige jodhpurs and black riding boots. I get the feeling that we are going to do more than help out on the farm. But the car is here and there’s no time for a quick change with my watch-communicator, so I follow Astrid out of the castle and into the car. Once we’re buckled in, the driver pulls out from the kerb and takes us to the farm.

xxoOoxx

A pleasant forty-five minutes later, we arrive at Green Meadows Farm, the home of the Hallmans. The farm consists of a yellow-painted cottage, a small, rundown yard, a few barns and acres of paddocks. As the name suggests, the farm is surrounded by a green meadow – and filled with cows. In the distance is a group of trees – the woods.

The car stops at the gates and Astrid tells the driver that we’ll walk from here and to fetch us in three hours. We climb out of the car and head towards the gate. Astrid opens the squeaky wooden gate with its crooked hand-painted sign and enters the small sunny square yard with its flowering weeds sprouting up from the cracks in the concrete. We’re greeted by the squawking of chickens and the welcoming yaps of a dog, which runs across the yard towards Astrid.

Astrid kneels down and greets the dog. “Hello, boy! Did you miss me, boy? Did you? Of course you did because I missed you, too!” she says as she strokes and pets the dog while he gives happy barks and licks Astrid’s face.

I slowly come up to them. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Oluf. He’s a Norwegian Buhund,” says Astrid. “Pet him – he doesn’t bite.”

I pat the dog’s head. “Hey, Oluf.”

The dog looks at me weird, but then he starts to lick my hand.

Astrid smiles. “It looks like he likes you.”

Just then, a plump, bearded middle-aged man, wearing a red checked flannel shirt, dungarees and flat cap comes jogging towards us. “I’m so sorry about Oluf…” he stops, and then beams. “Well, look who it is. Hello, Astrid!”

“Hello, Wilhelm,” she responds, waving. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has. But it’s so good to see you. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jenny Brownstone. Jenny – Wilhelm.”

“How do you do,” I shake the farmer’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Come on, let’s head inside. The rest of the family will be happy to see you.”

We follow Wilhelm across the yard and into the cottage. We enter the kitchen where a short and stout middle-aged woman with grey hair and glasses is setting up the table.

“Hey, Annette, guess who’s just turned up?” says Wilhelm.

The woman turns and her face lights up. “Astrid!” she exclaims.

“Hiya, Annette,” she says. “Sorry I haven’t visited in the last few weeks.”

“Oh, that’s all right, _kjære_. I know how busy you’ve been with your coronation coming up in a couple of days.”

“Oh, Annette, this is Jenny. Jenny, this is Annette, Wilhelm’s wife.”

“Hello,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’ll have to set up two more plates – you two are just in time for lunch. Have a seat.”

“I’ll go and fetch Jonas,” says Wilhelm.

“No need to, Papa, I’m right here,” says a voice, and a muscular man with a tanned complexion, brown eyes, and black hair that has been spiked-up enters the room. He appears to be average height and a couple of years older than me, and has quite wide shoulders and an oval-shaped face with a strong jawline and a squared-off chin. He is wearing a bright checked shirt and denim jeans. “I take it I’m just in time for lunch.”

“You would be correct, Jonas,” says Annette. “Have a seat.”

“Well, well, well. Look whose back,” Jonas says as he takes a seat next to Astrid. “Hey there, pretty princess…” He sees me. “And her equally pretty friend.”

I feel my cheeks burn and grin sheepishly like an idiot at the compliment.

“Jonas, this is Jenny. Jenny, this is Jonas, Annette and Wilhelm’s son,” says Astrid.

Jonas and I say our hellos to each other just as Annette places lunch on the table: celery root, carrot, and potato gratin. While Wilhelm and Annette have their coffee, Jonas, Astrid and I have blueberry juice. During our lunch, I learn how Astrid first met the Hallmans. A few years ago, one of their horses escaped and somehow managed to find its way to the royal garden. Astrid found the horse and looked after it, while her father attempted to find the owner. When Wilhelm came to pick up the horse, he expressed his gratitude by letting Astrid come visit the horse. And from that day, she has been visiting the Hallmans to help out on the farm.

When we finish having our gratin, we have blue cheese and blueberries salad, and then for dessert we have blueberry upside-down cake.

It’s the most glorious meal I’ve ever eaten. Annette is right up there with Jonathan and my mum as best cook in the world!

When we finish, Astrid and I help Annette stack the plates while Wilhelm and Jonas get back to work. After the plates are washed, dried and put away, Annette, Astrid and I step out of the cottage and cross the yard to eight wooden stables, four of which are being used by horses that are waiting at the gates. As soon as they see us they set up a chorus of whinnies in greeting.

“Caspian!” Astrid cries, running to the small and sturdy grey horse and nuzzling him. “How are you, my _elskling_? I’ve missed you so much.” She turns to me. “Jenny, meet my gorgeous Northlands horse, Caspian.”

“Hello, Caspian,” I say as I slowly approach the horse. “You’re a fine looking animal, aren’t you? Majestic even.”

The horse looks to me, acknowledging me. Astrid beckons me closer. Then she takes my hand and guides it to Caspian’s shoulder, stroking it. After a few seconds, she lets go, leaving me to stroke it by myself.

“Yeah. That’s it. I’m your friend,” I say.

“Yes, he is,” says Astrid. “Let’s get him fed – the others too.”

She takes the headcollar from the hook outside Caspian’s stable and slips the headgear on him. Then Annette comes with a bucket and hangs it on the stable gate. Caspian starts to slurp and slosh on his feed – as do the other horses: a chestnut Frederiksborg horse called Gandalf, a seal brown Swedish Warmblood called Henning, and a black Icelandic horse called Thor.

As the horses have their lunch, Annette and Astrid fetch the grooming kits from one of the stables that is being used as a tack room and start to brush the horses, with me helping out.

Once the horses are sparkling and enough time has passed after they’d been fed, Astrid takes Caspian out of his stable and tacks him up. When she finishes, Astrid vaults onto the horse from the ground.

“Ta-dah!” she says.

“Woo, nicely done, Astrid,” I say, clapping.

“Thanks. Now it’s your turn.”

I stop clapping. “Er, what now?”

“We’ll gonna teach you how to ride a horse,” says Annette, holding Gandalf by the reins in one hand and holding a black riding hat in the other. “You are best suited with Gandalf as you’re an inexperienced rider and Frederiksborg horses are not selected for sensitivity.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I ask, feeling a tad nervous considering I’ve never ridden a horse before.

“Do not worry. Gandalf is a very friendly and well trained horse. Just remember – the horse can sense when you are scared or nervous, so being calm, well-mannered and not overly aggressive is always a general rule of thumb to keep in mind for a beginner horse rider like you.”

Annette hands me the helmet and I put it on. Then she brings Gandalf to me. I give the horse some quick strokes on his shoulder, and then climb the fence and slide onto the saddle on Gandalf’s back.

“There. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” says Annette.

“No. No, that was good. I’m good,” I say. “Well, that was the easy bit. Now how do I get him started?”

“Gently squeeze Gandalf’s side with your legs. That should signal him to walk,” Annette instructs.

I take a deep breath and squeeze Gandalf on – and that’s all it takes to get him to walk. Once the horse starts to move forward I can feel my legs relaxing.

“Oh, my God, I’m doing it! I’m riding a horse!” I say excitedly.

“Yay!” Astrid claps, as does Annette.

It takes more than two hours for me to learn the basics of horse riding: the walk, the trot, the canter, and turning and circles.

It’s a lot to take in, but I’m starting to get the hang of it. Maybe I should sign up to some lessons when I return to England. Who knows when I will need a horse for future missions?

“Well done, Jenny!” says Astrid after I make Gandalf go from a trot to a walk. “You’re learning quickly.”

“Thanks!” I reply. “I never knew how fun and exciting it was riding a horse.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” says Annette. “Now that you’ve learnt how to slow down a horse, you will now learn how to…”

A loud honk cuts through the tranquil air, startling Gandalf; he suddenly bolts. From the cries and thudding hooves that I hear behind me I guess my horse isn’t the only one.

I feel out of control as Gandalf thunders past the turnout paddock and into the field. I grab a handful of mane, lean forward, lifting my weight out of the saddle and pray that I don’t fall off and die.

But I don’t think I’m praying hard enough as straight ahead is a gate that leads into the woods.

And there’s no way I can stop!

I close my eyes and hold on for dear life.

“Oh, my God!” I scream at the same time as Gandalf lets out a squeal as he flies over the fence. I open my eyes and trees whir by, a blurred curtain of green and brown. While I’m happy to be alive, I have to stop Gandalf.

Suddenly Caspian is at my shoulder, racing Gandalf.

“Don’t worry, Jenny – I’m here!” Astrid shouts. “Listen to me carefully. To ask the horse to halt, stiffen the lower back and at the same time squeeze gently with the legs whilst stiffening the hands and gently pulling the reins back towards your body!”

I do exactly what she says; sitting deeply in the saddle, with my whole body weight pushed down onto my heels and gently pulling back the reins. Gandalf halts – but he halts so suddenly that I slide off my saddle and fall to the ground.

“Jenny!” Astrid cries. She halts Caspian to a stop, jumps off him and rushes to my side. “Jenny, are you all right?”

I lie still for a moment or two to get my breath back. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not hurt or broken any bones, have you?”

I slowly move my toes, then ankles, then fingers, then wrists. “Nah, I’m good – no joint pains or broken bones. I’m not bleeding, am I?”

“I don’t see any cuts or scrapes.”

“That’s good.” I sit up very slowly. It doesn’t look like I’m about to pass out at any moment, so I take that as a good sign and slowly stand up. “Well, that was thrilling… _not_ ,” I say.

“I would like to offer my sincere apologizes,” says Astrid. “It was all Karl’s fault – he’s come to pick us up, and he thought the smart way to get our attention was to honk the car horn, not knowing that horses get spooked by sudden and loud noises.”

“That’s fine. I’m just happy to be alive and in one piece. Come on – let’s head…” I stop when I see we’re in a clearing; an open space between the evergreen trees. There’s an old building made of rough grey stone blocks with a chimney at each end of it and slits for windows set high in its walls.

“What is that?” I ask.

“I have no idea. But it’s been here for a very long time,” Astrid tells me. “Perhaps it’s a woodcutter’s hut. Or a gamekeeper’s lodge or something.”

“Or the wicked witch’s cottage from _Hansel and Gretel_ ,” I quip. “I’m gonna take a closer look.”

Astrid looks at me and bites her lip. “I’m not sure if you should.”

“It’ll only be for a minute.”

I walk slowly towards the door, which is stout, wooden and thick with dirt. It has a broken padlock but only one hinge, and is hanging twisted and jammed in the doorway.

“This just needs a bit of a helping hand,” I say to myself, and I run at the door and shoulder it hard, as if I’m tackling someone at rugby. (Not that I’ve ever played the game!)

The padlock snaps off and the door swings there for a moment, and then drops down flat with an almighty crash on to the floor behind. The noises causes the birds to fly into the air in terror and the horses to get spooked once again – but Astrid quickly gets them under control.

“Sorry,” I say. “But at least I’ve scared off any ghosts.”

I tiptoe into the hut. Inside, it’s just one long room with six rusty iron bedsteads in a row down one side. The strange thing is, instead of it being full of rubbish and dirt and spiders, it’s tidy and reasonably clean. There are no cobwebs or dust, and the floor didn’t have as much as a dead leaf lying on it.

Someone must come in here regularly to keep it clean, I think as I look around. But if they do, I wonder how they get in because to my reckoning no-one can have come through this door for about a hundred years. It needs someone of my superior strength to hammer it down.

I walk from one end of the room to the other where I find a large table. An elegant leather box stands on the table – it looks brand new, but there’s some wear and tear on the corners. I peer down at the box. There’s no lock. I reach out and open the box. Inside is a black leather book, the cover labelled ‘King Andreas’. I take out the book and I’m about to open it up when I hear Astrid call for me.

“What’s going on in there?”

Quick as a flash, I put the book back in the back and close it. Then I pick up the box and I come out of the hut.

“So? Did you find anything in there?” Astrid asks.

I hold up the box, making sure she doesn’t see the latch. “Just this,” I say. “It’s locked so I can’t get into it. I’ll find out what’s inside when we get back. Speaking of which, our driver’s waiting for us – let’s head back to the farm.”

We mount back onto our horses and we set off down the path that leads through the woods, our horses pulling at the reins, a bundle of energy jig-jogging all the way.

The path takes us to the end of the woods and we canter across the field straight onto the drive that leads to Green Meadows Farm. Annette rushes up to me, asking if I’m all right and checking me over when I dismount from Gandalf. Afterwards Astrid and I return Caspian and Gandalf to their stables and we say our goodbyes to the Hallmans – with Annette giving us a slice of blueberry upside-down cake as a parting gift. After Astrid gives Karl the driver a scolding for startling the horses and nearly causing me an injury, she and I climb into the car and we head back to Harvonia Castle.

xxoOoxx

We’re greeted by Niklas when we return to the castle. He informs us that Ophelia is feeling much better and has been asking after us. Astrid and I head up the stairs and knock on Ophelia’s door.

“Come in!” she says, and Astrid and I enter the room. Ophelia is propped on her bed, under the duvet, wearing a cream silk pyjama shirt. There’s a tray of food on her bedside table: boiled eggs, orange satsumas, a small slice of cake and water to drink.

“Hi, guys!” says Ophelia when she sees us.

“Hi, Ophelia,” Astrid and I respond. Astrid sits on Ophelia’s bed. “You’re looking better,” she says.

“I’m feeling better. The doctor says I should make a full recovery this time tomorrow. So how have you’ve been? What’s been happening?”

“Well…” Astrid takes a deep breath. “There’s been a development in Jenny’s mission to find my assassin. She thinks that it’s someone who’s employed in the castle.”

“You mean one of the butlers or maids is plotting an attempt on your life?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And that’s not all,” I interject. “I also believe that the assassin may have kidnapped the Prince Regent as he may have found out what the assassin was doing, and it explains why no-one has heard from the Prince Regent in the last few days.”

“So what you’re saying is the person who may have taken Prince Regent Sigurðr is the same person who’s trying to kill Astrid?” says Ophelia, and I nod. “That’s… unbelievable.”

“You can say that again.”

“But you shouldn’t worry, Ophelia,” says Astrid. “Jenny will soon have this case wrapped up before the crown is placed on my head. I have complete faith in her.”

“As do I,” says Ophelia. “I’m glad MI9 someone chose someone as efficient as you to take this case.”

“Thanks,” I smile.

“So what’s that you’re holding?”

“Oh…” I realize I still have the box in my hands. “Just something I found in some hut in the woods today.”

“You went into the woods?”

“We didn’t mean to,” Astrid remarks. “But Karl spooked Gandalf and he galloped into the woods, taking Jenny with him.”

“Do you know what’s inside?”

“No, sorry,” I lie. “I didn’t have time to check. It’s probably some time capsule thing that someone left behind a long time ago. I’ll open it later.”

There’s a knock at the door. Ophelia permits the person entrance. The door opens and Niklas enters the room.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” he says, “but you are due downstairs for your rehearsal.”

“Thank you, Niklas,” says Astrid. She stands up. “I’ll see you later, Ophelia.”

“See ya, Ophelia,” I say, and I follow Astrid out of the room and down to the Great Hall for Astrid’s rehearsals.

The rehearsal lasts four hours, and Astrid and I head upstairs to get ready for dinner. But first I take the box up to my room. And the question is where to hide it. There’s no doubt that the assassin will head over to the hut and find the box missing and they’ll come looking for it. I need to find somewhere to hide the box – but where? There are too many obvious places to put the box in and I know the assassin will find it before they have a chance to blink.

But what if I put it in plain sight? What if I place the box somewhere where the assassin will find out… only for its contents to be replaced with something else?

And that’s when I get an idea.

As soon as I enter my room, I head for the wardrobe and take out the A4 notepad and measure it on top of the box. It’s the right size. I open the box and take out the book that’s inside and replace it with the notepad. Then I place the box on the dressing table in plain sight. Now what to do with the King Andreas book. No doubt when the person finds the box and see that what’s inside is just a notepad, they’re gonna come back and tear my room apart.

Again, I get another brilliant idea.

I take off my watch and place it on the book. Then remembering about the bug in the room, I head into the bathroom and I activate the cloaking device, making the book invisible. I don’t want the assassin knowing just yet that I hold the book that they want. I come out of the bathroom and go over to the bed. I lift the mattress and place the book under it. I just hope the assassin doesn’t look under the bed when he or she is turning my room upside-down.

After a quick shower and another outfit change, I head down to the dining room and join Astrid for dinner. This time we’re having slow-cooked honey-coated vegetables and pickled potatoes and stuffed bread, with guava yoghurt for dessert. Once again I scan Astrid’s food for any poisonous substances – and once again, nothing is found.

Afterwards, Astrid invites me to the parlour for a nightcap – but I decline, telling her that I’m going to have an early night and she should too, considering that she needs the energy for the all-day coronation rehearsal. Astrid complies and we both head up to our rooms after we say our goodnights.

Just as I suspected – as soon as I enter my room, I immediately notice that the box is gone. Someone came into this room while I was having dinner. But did they come back when they realized that there’s a notepad inside? Everything looks like it should be in the right place, but is the book still under the mattress? I go over to the bed and lift the mattress. I have a feel around under the mattress until I feel the leathery texture and my watch-communicator on top. The book is still here. Looks like the assassin didn’t look in all the right places I take the book and my gadget out from under the bed and head into the bathroom.

“Deactivate cloaking device,” I say – and the book becomes visible. I come out of the bathroom, go over to the bed and sit on it and open the book up, my fingers thumbing through the pages.

On every page are photographs and newspaper clippings about King Andreas. There are various articles about him: when he became King, his marriage to Queen Celestine, the birth of Astrid, the death of the Queen, and the death of him, as well as everything in-between. Why would someone who wants to kill Astrid keep a scrapbook about her father?

Something falls onto the floor. I bent to pick it up. It’s a photo of a young woman smiling at a little sleeping baby in her arms. It must have come from the scrapbook – but why is it in the scrapbook? I look behind the picture and find some writing on it.

“Shona and Ebony,” I read.

More questions buzz around in my head: who are they? Is this Shona or Ebony person the one conspiring to murder Astrid? And why does she have a scrapbook of King Andreas? There’s only one way to find out.

I hop off the bed and go over to the wardrobe and take out another notepad from my bag (it’s always good to carry spares) and I go to the dressing table to write my message to MI9. The message is mostly about the scrapbook I found and to find out who the people in the picture are. MI9 can run an analysis in the photograph and they’ll be able to find out who those people are. After holding the message and the picture, I take out my Camera Contact Lens and get ready for bed. I take the scrapbook and the photo and hide them under the mattress. Then I creep under the covers, turn out the lights and I fall asleep.

xxoOoxx

I wake up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty. Luckily I keep a glass of water on the bedside table. I prop myself up on one elbow and reach out for the glass – only for me to knock it over.

“Wonderful,” I mutter to myself. I switch on the light – and get the shock of my life.

The water that I knocked onto the floor is burning a hole in the carpet and the polished wood floor. I can hear an audible crackling sound and see the mists forming. I instantly realize that it’s not water…

It’s hydrochloric acid.

“Shit!” I cry, now wide awake. I take a deep breath and cover my nose so not to inhale the acidic fumes and quickly grab my watch-communicator and hop off the other side of the bed. I nearly rush out of the room but do a double take and reach for the scrapbook under the bed. Then I rush out of the room, closing the door behind me and taking several deep breathes.

“Bloody hell,” I gasp. “I can’t believe someone tried to kill me.”

And it’s not just someone – it’s the assassin. They’ve found the notepad I placed in the box rather than the scrapbook and in retaliation they replaced my water with hydrochloric acid. And as soon as I’m out of the way, they can conduct a proper search. But they’re gonna be very disappointed when they find out that the book is not in the room, but I’m still alive and holding it.

But while I’m glad that live to see another day, I have another problem on my hands. Where am I going to sleep? My room is obviously a no-go. Unless, maybe… Maybe I could crash with Astrid.

I strap on my watch-communicator and activate the torch. I walk down the corridor until I reach Astrid’s room. I hide the scrapbook in the rear waist of my pyjama bottoms and knock on the door. After several minutes of standing and knocking, Astrid opens the door.

“Jenny? What’s wrong? What are you doing out there?”

“Something’s happened,” I say. “Can I come in?”

Astrid allows me entrance and I step into the room.

“So what’s going on?” she asks after closing the door.

“Someone tried to kill me,” I answer, not wanting to beat around the bush. “The very same person who’s been trying to kill you.”

“What?! How?”

“They went into my room and swapped my glass of water with hydrochloric acid. It must have been sometime during dinner. Had I not knocked over that glass, I would be dead.”

“But why is the assassin coming after you?”

“I must be getting close to finding out who’s conspiring to murder you. I’ve sent a message to MI9 before I went to bed and I should be receiving a reply sometime within the next twenty-four hours. And until that time, we need to stay together – and I need a place to crash tonight. With your permission, Astrid, can I stay in your room?”

“But of course you can, Jenny! You don’t need to ask. And you’re right when you said that we need to stay together – we also need to help each other out. So for the next few days, this room is yours as well as mine.”

“Astrid, you are an absolute star! Now the only problem is sleeping arrangements…”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“Oh. Well, that’s the sleeping arrangement sorted. And speaking of sleeping…” I let out a yawn, “we should get back to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow and we need our beauty rest.”

“Agreed.”

Astrid and I hop into bed, with me taking the right side and Astrid taking the left. As I get comfortable under the duvet, I remove the scrapbook from my rear waist of my pyjama bottoms and slip it under the pillow, with one hand on it so I know it’ll be there when I wake up. I’ll have to find a more suitable hiding place in the morning for the scrapbook – providing that the killer doesn’t have a death wish themselves to sneak into the _princess’ room_ and look for it. I just need to wait a couple more days and catch this would-be assassin before they strike.

I hear soft snoring behind me. Astrid has gone back to sleep. And it isn’t much longer until I’m asleep too.


	56. Royal Rescue

**(Jenny’s POV)**

The last thirty-six hours have been hectic.

All day Friday, all hands were on deck with the final preparations. The caterers arrived to make start on the cooking for the five hundred-plus guests that are coming. The decorators came to; of course, decorate the Great Hall – with Ophelia directing them as she had made a full recovery. Every servant in the castle had the place cleaned from top to bottom, leaving no speck of dust behind. And Astrid rehearsed from morning until night with her coronation – she had breaks, of course – making sure she didn’t mess up or forgot what she had to say.

As for me, I made sure that nothing happened to the princess. Everywhere she went, I followed – even if it was to the bathroom! I knew that it was only a matter of time before Astrid’s assassin struck again and I’m not taking any chances by letting the princess out of my sight. I also had to be cautious with myself. After my almost near-death experience, I have to keep my wits about me, my senses sharp, and try to find out who is after Astrid.

I also managed to find the perfect hiding place for the scrapbook of King Andreas. It’s the one place I know the assassin will never find it… I hope.

On Saturday, Astrid’s birthday and coronation, after everything had been finalized, Astrid and I head into Schonan to get ourselves pampered for tonight. Beauty and massage treatments and a little retail therapy – with no punk gangs in sight to kidnap anyone. It’s also the last time Astrid will visit Schonan as a princess. In a few hours’ time, she’ll be Queen.

When we come back, we start to get ready – at the same time that the guests are arriving. As much as I wanted to be with Astrid, were put in separate rooms, with Astrid telling me that the stylists are trained martial artists and there are two guards standing outside each of our doors. I was reluctant, but I obliged.

The team of professionals working on my overall appearance, and they include hair and makeup experts as well as a _photographer_ to take pictures of me while the assistants dress me, and do my hair and makeup. He even takes some shoots of me when I’m finished and says that he’ll email me the pictures.

I step out the same time as Astrid – and she looks a vision of grace and glamour, wearing a strapless, aqua blue tulle and taffeta gown that feature rows of tiers, complete with elegant yet understated jewellery and short, white sheer gloves. She gracefully wears a crystal tiara inset with diamonds and pearls on her lovely updo.

“Oh, my gosh, Astrid,” I say. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “The same goes for you, too.”

I smile in response. “How are you feeling?”

“Very nervous – but then again, it’s only a birthday dinner… with foreign royalty, heads of state, and Members of Parliament. And then when the coronation happens, who knows how I’ll be.”

“Just remember to breathe and relax, OK? If you have any problems, Niklas, Ophelia or I will be there to help.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” There’s a small pause. “Do you think the assassin will strike tonight?”

“They’ll have to get past me – and all the guards in the castle. Remember that they’re doing spot checks, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m sure MI9 have already found out who that person is and they’ll be on their way to get her. Him. Or them.”

Astrid gives a small nod. “You’re right – I have nothing to worry about. So long as you’re by my side, there’s no way the assassin will try anything.”

Just then, Niklas and two guards arrive and approach us. “Excuse me, Ma’am, but the last of the guest are arriving,” he says. He turns to me. “I’m afraid you can’t be with the princess when I announce her, Miss Brownstone. You’ll have to be in the dining room with the other guests.”

I nod. Then I give Astrid’s hand a squeeze. “Remember, Astrid – deep breathes. Good luck.”

I head down to the third floor and join the last remaining guests going into the dining hall mainly used for formal state, royal and private banquets. It’s a large room with large windows that face the garden. There are two long tables filled with porcelain, crystal, silver and linens, with a fireplace to the western side, as well as a top table, where Astrid will sit. A red carpet decorates the checkered tile floors, while large paintings hang on the walls as well as the occasional pottery. There was a small stage in the far left corner with a smaller-sized orchestra of about fifty musicians or fewer.

I’m guided to my seat by one of the butlers, passing major dignitaries from other countries and other royalty who are already at their seats, dressed in white ties and ball gowns. I’m placed reasonably near Astrid. While I may not be seated at the top table, I’m placed somewhere where I have clear sightlines to the princess.

Once the guest have entered the room and have been seated, I spot Niklas coming in the dining hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the entrance of Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Astrid of Faärland.”

We all raise from our seats at the same time the orchestra start to play the Royal Salute. A moment later, Astrid enters the room. All the men give a nod of the head with a slight leaning forward of the upper body, and the women – including myself – give a very slight bend of the knees as a curtsy when Astrid passes us.

When Astrid reaches her seat at the top table, we remain standing and pray silence for grace by the Patriarch of the Church of Faärland, who will be crowning Astrid in the coronation. After Astrid is seated, and the rest of us follow suit and we are served our meals.

While the guests make conversations with one another, I make discreet and brief glances in the dining hall for any potential suspects in wanting to eliminate Astrid. But it’s difficult to find that person in a room filled with presidents and monarchs from across the globe. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

But I need to find this person – and quick. I’ve only got a few hours until Astrid is crowned Queen.

xxoOoxx

Two hours and six course meals later, dinner is finished – and I feel full. We all stand as Astrid leaves the dining hall where she’ll head upstairs to her room to get changed in her coronation dress. Meanwhile, the guests and I go down to the Great Hall where we will spend the next couple of hours relaxing with music and dancing – well, for the guests anyway. I don’t have anyone to talk to, and I can’t find Ophelia anywhere. So I go over to one of the benches and listen to the classical music being played while watching everyone mingle and dance.

But after spending half an hour people-watching, I find myself feeling bored – and lonely. I mean I did have people inviting me to dance – that’s nineteen men and one woman! – but I have turned them all away. There’s only one person I want to have a dance with – and he’s not here.

“Excuse me,” a voice says from my left side.

Great – another young aristocrat begging to invade my presence on the dance floor.

I turn to the man, ready to politely decline his invitation – but my jaw drops at the sight that greets me. No. It can’t be. Can it? “Frank?”

A smile touches his sexy lips. “My pretty young princess,” he says, “would you honour me with one dance?”

I can’t move to save my life, even when I realize what an idiot I must look. I look Frank up and down, taking in every detail.

He isn’t handsome – he is sinfully delicious. The epitome of exquisite white tie, Frank is wearing a sophisticated tuxedo. The beautifully tailored, single-breasted jacket features stylish peak lapels and a single vent. His crisp white shirt is worn with a white satin bow tie and a waistcoat. Gone are the glasses he wears when he’s undercover as a caretaker, revealing his gorgeous blue eyes. His stubble is gone too, and his smooth skin glows with health. I find it difficult to look away.

Frank is the one to break the silence. “Miss? Did you hear me? I said would you care to dance?” he asks, extending his hand.

I find myself temporarily robbed of speech, so I nod yes.

I take his hand, and Frank gently pulls me to my feet and leads me to the dance floor arm in arm and we begin to waltz.

“Surprised to see me?” Frank asks me.

I swallow enough saliva to reply, “I’m more surprised that you look so exquisite in a tuxedo. I have a very good mind to rip it off and have my way with you right have in the presence of all these dignitaries.” I gaze into his soft, blue eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

Frank gazes back at me and smiles. “Missed you, too.”

A tiny pause. “So, Frank…”

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m” – he leans towards my ear – “Godalming Keaty Levans, the Duke of Framlingham.”

“Good grief,” I mutter. That has to be the most ridiculously poshest name I have ever heard. “So, Your Grace – have you come alone?”

“I came with a plus-one – Lord Archie Washington Micawber.” Frank gives a nod. “There he is.”

I glance over my shoulder and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from laughing when I see a terrified Stark being manhandled on the dance floor by a plump, older woman who seems to have a very keen eye on him.

Upon spotting us, Stark mouths, “Help me,” – but he is quickly dragged away by the woman.

“It looks like Lord Micawber has got his hands full,” I say, turning back to Frank. “But it’s nice to see someone’s taking an interest in him. That aside, I take it you have some information for me regarding the assassin?”

Frank nods. “When you sent us the photo, we ran a facial recognition. The woman in the picture is Shona Asher and the baby is her daughter, Ebony. After we found Mrs Asher’s contact details, I volunteered to visit the address – but the news isn’t a happy one. Her husband told me that Shona Asher died four ago from cervical cancer.”

“So she’s not the one who’s after Astrid,” I muse. “It must be her daughter, Ebony.”

“It is. But there’s something you should know about her. When Mrs Asher’s husband told me about his wife, I noticed a photograph of Ebony on the mantelpiece. It seems that she has the same odd-coloured eyes as King Andreas – one green, one blue. I wasn’t sure until I ran a biometrics scan on both her and the late King, and my suspicions were confirmed.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Frank nods. “Ebony Asher is King Andreas’ daughter.”

I gasp. “Oh, my God,” I say, stunned. “The King has two daughters?”

“Yes. It explains why she kept a scrapbook of him.”

“But not why she wants Astrid dead. I mean she’s her half-sister. For starters, where could she be? Unless… Oh no. I need to get to Astrid. She’s in danger!”

I weave through the crowd and out of the Great Hall. I race up the stairs, with Frank tailing behind me.

When I reach the top of the stairs on Astrid’s floor, Frank and I are confronted by Ebony coming towards us. She’s dressed head to toe in a black ninja suit and she has Astrid over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Hold it right there, Ebony!” I say.

Ebony skids to a halt. “If you know what’s best for you, you better move out of my way.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” says Frank. “How about you make things easy for all of us and unhand the princess.”

“How about you make me?”

“I’ll be glad to,” I say, and I charge at Ebony.

I react quickly, striking out with the heel of my right hand. But Ebony is quicker, despite the fact that she’s carrying Astrid over her shoulder. She seems to shimmy to one side, and then her hand shoots out, the side of it driving into my throat. I gasp for breath but no breath comes. The ninja lashes out a second time. I try to avoid the blow, but Ebony’s fist hits me square on the jaw. Then she takes a large step forward and delivers a series of kicks with incredible speed, then takes another step forward and delivers another flurry of kicks with her other leg. She takes one final step forward and delivers a roundhouse kick to my face. I stagger and lose my balance, and I find myself falling backwards – over the balcony…

But someone catches my wrist.

I look up. “Frank!” I croak. My throat is still sore.

“Hang on, Jen! I’ve got you!” he says.

As he strains to pull me up, I see Ebony standing behind Frank.

“Frank – behind you!” I cry.

Before Frank can glance over his shoulder, Ebony shoves him over the balcony and we both fall.

“AAAHH!” I scream as I fall while clinging tightly onto Frank. There’s no way I’ll be able to reach for my communicator, change into my spy suit and use my jet boots to stop us from falling. But it’s nice to know that I’m about to die with someone I love.

Suddenly we come to a complete stop.

What’s happened? Am I dead? What’s going on?

I open my eyes and look up – and I find that I’m hanging mid-air… by a piece of rope?

“What?” I breathe. I turn to Frank – the only possible explanation as to why we’re hanging mid-air. He has one hand holding onto the rope while the other is wrapped tightly around my waist.

“Like I said before, I’ve got you,” he says, and he eases us down slowly and gently to the ground of the entrance hall. When I release myself from him, Frank pulls on the rope, and it detaches itself from where it was held and winds itself back into the belt buckle.

And it is then I knew. “The Grappling Belt,” I murmur.

“Mm-hm,” says Frank, closing the buckle. “You didn’t think MI9 would send me out here empty-handed, did you? But you are OK, though, yeah?”

“Well, other than my face that’s starting to swell up, I’m fine. Thanks for the save,” I say. “Now let’s find Ebony. She’ll be easy to track since I sewed a tracker under Astrid’s dress.” I hitch up my skirt and take out my communicator from the holder strapped on my thigh. Strapping the communicator on my wrist, I turn on the GPS that reveals a red dot moving across the screen.

“There she is! She’s on the second floor!” I say.

Frank and I race up the stairs for the second floor.

“She’s in the library!” I say as we run through the corridors.

“We’ve got her cornered,” says Frank.

“Not for long she isn’t. Astrid told me that there’s a secret passage in the library that leads to woods. It’s located behind the fireplace.”

We make it to the library. We burst open the doors but there is no-one here. Ebony must have already gone through the secret passageway. We head straight for the fireplace.

“There has to a switch or a button or something to open the secret entrance,” I say, fiddling with the wall of the fireplace and pulling on the fire poker.

“What are you doing?” a voice asks.

Frank and I whirl around to find Niklas standing in the doorway.

“Niklas – there’s no time to explain,” I say. “But long story short, the assassin has Astrid and she escaped through the fireplace. We need to find the switch to open up the secret passage so I can go after the assassin and save Astrid.”

For a couple of seconds Niklas doesn’t say anything. Then he makes his way across the room to the fireplace, and he pushes down on a small passage on the plinth base. Slowly, the fireplace slides open.

“I trust you will have our future Queen returned to us safely,” says Niklas.

“Don’t worry, Niklas, I will,” I say. I use my communicator to change into my spy suit. “You best stay here, Frank. You can explain to Niklas what has happened and alert the guards so they can be here to arrest Ebony.”

Frank nods. “Good luck, Jen.”

And with that I go through the fireplace. Inside it is pitch black – but not for long. The night vision feature on my Camera Contact Lens automatically activates and I take a look at my surroundings. I find myself standing on a small landing with a narrow, spiralling set of stairs. After a quick glance I start to make my way down the winding stairs.

Down and down and down I go, being extra careful not to slip and fall. Down and down and down and down. I swear to God if Ebony has touched one hair on Astrid’s head, I will end her. Down and down. Hold on, Astrid – I’m coming.

Down and down and down and down – and then suddenly I’m on ground level, standing at the start of a long, gloomy stone tunnel. Not only is it cold and damp, but it’s smelly and disgusting as there’s grime and mildew covering at least ninety-five per cent of the walls. It’s so gross – but I have to suck it up and get through this passageway if I want to save Astrid.

I make a break for it. I run. I run and run and run, my boots going clip-clacking on the stone ground. I don’t stop – I can’t stop, on and on and on, down the dingy tunnel. Oh God, I hope I don’t arrive too late. I made a promise to Astrid that I’ll keep her safe and stop the person from killing her, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I keep running until I see a wide staircase at the end of the tunnel. I climb up it and I’m in a small lobby area of a building and then go through the iron gates and out into the fresh air on the surface.

I’m now in the woods – as Astrid told me the tunnel would lead to. It’s shadowy and creepy – even with night vision, but I have to keep on moving.

I look at my communicator for Astrid and Ebony’s location. The red dot shows that they are somewhere in the middle of the woods. And that’s where I’m going.

I take off running again. I push myself to keep on running, even though I’m starting to sweat and I’m beginning to feel a little breathless, I have to keep going. Hold on, Astrid. Just a few more minutes and I’ll be there. I’ll be there to stop your crazy half-sister and save you.

I run through the woods until I come upon the clearing and there is the hut where I found the scrapbook in all its coldness and bleakness. It looks about as inviting as the house in _The Blair Witch Project_.

Suddenly I hear a scream – Astrid’s scream.

“Shut the hell up, you stupid bitch!” I hear Ebony telling the princess. “You’re in the middle of the woods. Nobody can hear you!”

Their voices are coming from the other side of the hut. I forge forward, moving silently towards the hut. When I get there I keep to the edge and skirt around the side of the small building, legs still wobbling after all the running I did.

I peer out the side and see Ebony standing in front of Astrid, her back to me while Astrid is sitting on the ground, her wrists tied up.

“Why are you doing this?” Astrid demands, tears streaming down her face.

Ebony scoffs. “Do you know how whiny and pathetic you sound?” She mimics Astrid’s voice with a high-pitched, whiny imitation. “ _Why are you doing this? Why d’you wanna hurt lil’ ol’ me?_ ” Then she continues in her normal voice, “You sound like a bratty five-year-old. But, to answer your pitiful question as to why I’m doing this, the answer is simple: I hate you. No, not even hate – I _despise_ you. You think you’re Little Miss Perfect, aren’t you? With your big fancy castle, your expensive jewellery and extensive wardrobe of gorgeous outfits, your blonde hair, and the fact that your beauty can shower you with sparkles and flowers, and make birds and small woodland creatures flock around you. And now… now you’re gonna be Queen.”

A small pause.

“That should be me!” Ebony screams. “I should be the one who should be crowned – not you! I spent weeks planning on ways of getting rid of you, and I executed every single one of them. But somehow, by amazing chance, you managed to escape every single one of them by the skin of your teeth, including the one with the poisoned dress – my most brilliant idea. But then _she_ came along – the spy from London. Sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted, ruining my plans, and escaping death. Well, maybe not the last one because right now she and her partner are lying dead with their blood, and probably their brain matter, spluttered all over the place. And now that she’s out of the way, I will have the ultimate pleasure in getting rid of you.”

Ebony pulls something out from the jacket of her suit, and Astrid’s eyes go wide. It’s a gun – a Glock 19. The ninja assassin cocks the gun and points it at the princess.

“Sweet dreams, little princess,” says Ebony. “Tell Dad I said hi.”

The time to attack is now.

“I don’t think so, Ebony!” I exclaim, leaving my hiding place and charging towards the ninja.

Before she has time to register what is happening, I punch Ebony in the face that sends her skidding across the clearing. She lands on the ground with a thump, dropping the gun in the process.

She gets up and spins to face me. “You again!” she snarls. “Why are you still alive? Why can’t you just die?”

“What can I say? I’m a hard person to kill,” I retort.

“Well, that run of good luck ends tonight when I will be the one who will end you. Prepare to die, bitch!”

Ebony charges at me with deadly intent, ready to kick the shit out of me. As I already know, Ebony Asher is one hell of a martial artist. Fortunately, I am, too.

Time for round two.

Ebony throws a series of incredible techniques. I avoid them easily. Twice more the ninja attacks, looking like a world beater. I block and retreat. A moment later Ebony throws a big technique. Instead of blocking I spin, dropping the ninja with a back kick. Ebony crashes to the ground, writhing – but she gets to her feet, still defiant.

“Grrr… You will pay for this, Brownstone!” she cries.

Ebony attacks, and in our first series of blows, she seems to have the upper hand, but I rally hard. Then the ninja surprises me with a floor-sweeping kick, knocking me down.

Ebony looks down at me with a smirk. “Every spy reaches the end of their journey,” she says, lifting her leg over her head, preparing to drop her foot of death on my head. “Some sooner than others.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” I mutter under my breath, my hand clenching into a tight fist at my side.

As Ebony’s leg descends, I shoot up with my fist and punch the back of the Ebony’s knee.

“AARGH!” she cries in pain.

I roll to the side as the ninja falls, still in the splits, cursing out loud while grabbing the back of her knee.

I get up. “It’s over, Ebony,” I say. “Now let’s see what you look like under that mask so I can take a picture of your defeated face and use it as a profile pic.”

I remove the hood and pull the mask off…

I gasp as the face underneath is revealed. “No – no, it can’t be,” I whisper.

“Oh, but it is,” says Ebony, staggering to her feet. “You thought the assassin was one of the staff at the castle. But not once did you think it would be the princess’ lady-in-waiting.”

I drop the mask. I’m too shocked to speak.

“O-Ophelia?” A familiar voice startles me and the ninja. We turn to find Astrid still sitting in the same spot. I forgot she was there.

“Took you long enough, blondie,” says Ebony. She turns to me. “But I’m most disappointed with you, Brownstone. I thought you were one of the best spies in MI9.”

“But, I – I don’t understand!” I say. “You’re the one who being trying to kill Astrid? But she’s…”

“I know who she is. And I know who my father is – my real father. My mother told me in the days leading up to her death. It was no surprise – I kind of figured that the man she married was not my father, considering that he’s a Caucasian and no relatives on his or my mother’s side has the honey skin tone that I’ve got. Or the odd-coloured eyes that I possess. She told me how she met Andreas on a night out, in central London.”

“Central London…” I murmur. Then I remember. “The night he snuck out of Buckingham Palace when he was on a state visit.”

“That’s the one. He wandered into some club, saw my mother and they got chatting. Cocktails were drunk, flirty talks were exchanged, they went to a hotel. One thing led to another, and then…” Ebony claps her hands together, “bam! Nine months later, I came along.”

“You… You mean… you’re my sister?” Astrid says in a small voice.

“ _Half_ -sister,” Ebony corrects the princess, stressing on the word ‘half’. She continues, “Anyway, after finding out that bombshell, I set out to meet him. But, of course, there was the matter of how I would meet him – I mean he was the King of Faärland. I couldn’t just walk to his front door and blurt out that I was his daughter, can I? So I went for a different approach – I applied for a job at the castle. I thought maid, but I didn’t want to spend seventeen hours a day cleaning. I like my nails to be clean. So I decided to apply to be the lady-in-waiting of the King’s daughter – my half-sister.” She turns to Astrid upon saying those words. Then she turns back to me. “Now usually ladies-in-waiting came from families that were highly thought of in good society; the nobility, court officials, knights and military officers, or trusted provincial supporters of the dynasty, yada-yada-yada. So what could I do to make them believe that I was a girl from a high class family? Answer: I make a fake CV. And I didn’t just tell harmful fibs – I told a great, big fat whopper of lies. Where I lived, what school I went to, who I worked for – everything! I also had to disguise myself – the eye patch. I didn’t want the king to know who I was just yet, so I told everyone that there was something wrong with my eye. And of course along with the fake life I came up with, I thought, why not have a fake name to go with it? And that’s how Ophelia Ingebreston came to be.”

“So you lied and cheated your way into the Royal Family,” I say.

“I wanted to learn more about my real father. Who he really was behind closed doors. I saw that he was kind, loving and supportive. It was all going so well… until he found out I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. Apparently, that brown-nosing lapdog, Niklas, overheard a telephone conversation I was having – and I used my British accent rather than my Faärlandic one, and he told Andreas. I was summoned to his office and he confronted me. It was then I had to tell him the truth. Who I really was, why I lied, and finally telling him that I… I was his daughter. At first he didn’t believe me. He thought I was trying to scam him off – until I whipped off the eye patch. When he saw that I had the same shade of eye colours as his, he realized that I was telling the truth. I thought he would be happy – that he would welcome me into his arms and we could be a family. But he didn’t do that. He didn’t do that at all. Instead, he… he told that I couldn’t be part of his family. I couldn’t be next in line for the throne. He said that the media would have a field day if they found out that he had a one-night stand all those years ago – that I was born out of wedlock. So he wrote me a cheque – which I refused to take – and he told me to pack my bags and leave.

“I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that my father, the King of Faärland, would reject me – turn me away. He cared more about his reputation than a reunion with his daughter. So I decided he had to be punished.”

“What… What are you talking about?” Astrid asks.

“It was three in the morning. I snuck into his room. Luckily he’s a heavy sleeper. I saw how peaceful he looked. He was like a baby. I watched him for about half an hour before I made my move.”

“Ebony… what did you do?” I ask.

“I got it from someone in Schonan after my dismissal from Andreas. It can induce heart attacks and it’s virtually untraceable. After saying a silent pray for forgiveness, I administered the substance… and I watched him. It only took a minute as I watched him stop moving, stop breathing, stop… being.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “You mean you…”

“You killed my father?” Astrid finishes. “You murdered him?”

She crumbles. The tears run down Astrid’s cheeks and she begins to sob, her slender shoulders heaving up and down. “You monster!” Astrid blubbers through her sobs. “You malicious, spiteful she-devil! How could you do this?! How could you take my father away from me?”

“Because he was selfish!” Ebony cries. “He was a self-centred and thoughtless man who was concerned with his own interests and showed no consideration for other people, i.e. me! I’m glad that bastard is dead! And with him dead, you acceded to the throne – you were proclaimed queen. But I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t let you get your hands on the one thing that our dear, sweet, dead father denied me to have. So I began to plot. Figure out ways in killing you before the crown could be placed on your head. I could’ve offed you there and then, immediately after I killed Andreas. But I couldn’t risked been a suspect of a conspiracy to kill the future queen – and you were in deep mourning. So I waited. I waited until it was time for me to strike.”

“So, all the attempts on her life… you were the one responsible?” I say. “The poisoned dress, the hiring of the punk gang in Schonan, the day you tried to take a shot at Astrid when we were in the garden and missed.”

“What?!” Astrid cries, shocked.

“You even went as far as poisoning yourself to let us think that the assassin targeted the wrong person.”

“Again, another one of my finest ideas,” says Ebony. “ _Lactarius torminosus_ , commonly known as the woolly milkcap or the bearded milkcap, is a large agaric fungus. They are pickled and eaten in Scandinavia. Though, they are highly irritating to the digestive system when eaten raw.”

“You’re also the one who planted the bug in my room and swapped my glass of water with hydrochloric acid!”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a clumsy bitch and knocked the glass over, you would be dead! But I’m glad that you didn’t drink the acid – because now I get to personally beat your arse!”

Ebony throws a scorpion kick at my face that sends me crashing against the rough exterior of the hut. Then with blinding speed, Ebony slips her belt off and whips a razor sharp crescent-blade at me! I cartwheel as the blade sails between my legs and smashes into one of the windows. I recover and charge towards Ebony. But the ninja performs a very high spinning jump, turning upside-down near the apex as I swing my arm at her. I punch thin air, stumble and very nearly falling over. I turn around just in time to see Ebony’s deadly belt sailing towards me. I block with my arm. The belt wraps around it. Ebony rushes towards me, lunge punching for my face. At the last moment, I perform the splits, grab the ninja by the legs, and then turn around while still doing the splits and throw her.

Ebony crashes against one of the trees. As she recovers, I use my Feline Fight Claws to free myself from the belt wrapped around my arm. I climb to my feet – so does Ebony.

“You think you got me on the ropes, Brownstone. Well, you’re wrong,” she says. “This ought to finish you!”

Ebony charges at me. She jumps high in the air, appearing to throw a flying sidekick. Instinctively, I raise my hands, but instead of kicking out, Ebony drops and pushes the blade of her foot into my knee, the full weight of her body behind it. A sickening _crack_ fills the air.

“ _GYAAAH!_ ” I scream. I collapse, grabbing my knee, feeling more pain than I have ever known.

“Jenny!” Astrid cries.

“And that’s a wrap!” Ebony says with a smirk. “And now that you’ve been taken care of, there’s the matter of disposing a certain blonde-haired nuisance.”

She turns her attentions to Astrid and makes her way over to her. Along the way, Ebony picks up the Glock that she dropped. Astrid panics and scoots backwards – only for her to back into a tree. Ebony cocks the gun and points it at the princess. I can’t do anything to stop her.

I’ve failed.

“Long live the Queen,” says Ebony.

Astrid’s eyes meet mine. “Jen–”

Two explosive cracks go off.

“No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” I shrill.

Astrid sits very sit, her mouth gaping open, her eyes wide, unmoving, still staring straight at me. There are two gaping holes in her chest.

I can’t believe Ebony shot the princess. She killed her half-sister.

Ebony lowers the gun and lets out a deep sigh. “You have… no idea… how good… that felt,” she says. Then she turns to me. “And now that she’s gone… I can finally put an end to you. This is where you die!”

She walks to me and points the gun to my head. “Any last words before I put a bullet in your head?” she asks.

There are no words that can save me. But a thought does come to me.

“There is one thing,” I say. “You do realize that by killing Astrid, Prince Regent Sigurðr becomes King of Faärland.”

“Oh, per-lease!” says Ebony. “That old geezer is rotting away in the dungeons, with no food or water. That’s what happens when you stumble upon my plans. He’s probably dead for all I care – which I don’t.”

“So with the Astrid and her uncle dead, and with no surviving heirs to take the crown, the monarchy ceases to exist. It will be abolished.”

“The ultimate revenge. Now that I’ve answered your questions, it’s time for you to join my darling, dead half-sister.”

“Are you sure about that? Because from where I’m lying, she doesn’t look dead to me.”

At Ebony’s confusing look, I nod to the figure behind her. Ebony turns and lets out a scream. Standing before us is Astrid – alive and well, even with two holes in her chest.

“But… but, but… how are you… How are you still alive?” Ebony cries. “I killed you! I shot you – twice! You should be dead!”

Astrid says nothing. Her eyes narrow as they glare at Ebony. Her lips are pursed, her expression set as if chiselled in cold stone.

The ninja points the Glock at the princess. “Damn you, Astrid, die!”

“Get her, Astrid!” I command.

Astrid makes a high-speed dash to Ebony which briefly leaves behind an afterimage. Before Ebony has time to pull the trigger, Astrid swipes the gun out of the ninja’s hand and tosses it away. Then Astrid quickly ducks down and performs a high kick that launches Ebony into the air. Astrid jumps after the ninja with her fists held over her head and hits Ebony’s head. As the ninja hits the ground, the princess lands feet-first on Ebony’s body and jumps off.

“And that’s a wrap.” I take out a Tangled Net Grenade from my utility belt and toss it at Ebony. The wire net ensnares the ninja, capturing her. “Literally. Help me up, Astrid.”

The princess gently pulls me to my feet. I limp over to Ebony, groaning at every step.

Ebony cranes her neck up at me. “But, how… How is this possible?” she asks. “How did she survive getting shot?”

“It’s simple.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and tug on my earring. Suddenly (though briefly) Astrid pixelates into a version of myself and disappears. “She’s a hologram.”

Ebony’s eyes widen in shock. “What?” she gasps.

“I mean, seriously – you didn’t expect me to let the real Princess Astrid get kidnapped, did you? And FYI, I’m not just one of the best spies in MI9. I’m _the_ best spy in MI9.”

Ebony bows her head in defeat. It’s over.

I tug my earring again and three holographic images of me appear: one to carry Ebony and the other two to support me.

We all make our way back to the castle: stumbling through the woods until we reach the small, concrete pillbox building that we came out of. We go through the tunnel and up the winding stairs – though it proved to be a bit of a challenge. When we finally reach the top, I knock on the wall, and the fireplace slides open.

The two holograms and I go through first where Frank, Niklas and several Royal guards are waiting. “Gentlemen – I give you Ebony Asher, a.k.a. Ophelia Ingebreston,” I say, just as the hologram brings in Ebony.

The hologram removes Ebony from her shoulder and hands her over to the guards. As they take Ebony away, I tug my earring and the holograms disappear. Then I collapse on one of the chairs and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

“Jen!” Frank is by my side. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Oh, Jen, well done. You caught the assassin.”

“All in a day’s work,” I reply, resting my head against his shoulder. “Or in this case a week.”

“We saw everything on the Spy-Pod through your Camera Contact Lens, and we sent the guards down to the dungeon to free Prince Regent Sigurðr. The paramedics have taken him to the hospital.”

I nod into Frank’s shoulder. “Good. That’s good.”

“And that was genius using a hologram to take the place of the real princess.”

“Thanks.”

“Which begs the question, where is the real Princess Astrid?” Niklas says.

“She’s hiding in the one place no-one would ever think to look. Let me take you to her.”

Frank pulls me to my feet and the three of us head out of the library and use the elevator to go up to the sixth floor of the castle. Then we go up the stairs, approaching the portrait of the girl with the flowers. I pull the portrait, revealing the secret compartment and we head inside. Since the steps are steep and a long way up, I have to piggyback on Frank and he takes me up to the secret room, where Astrid is sitting comfortably on the sofa, reading a book. She’s been hiding up here since we came back from Schonan this afternoon since I’d figured that the assassin will strike before the coronation. So I let a hologram take her place in order to catch the killer – and, of course, it worked!

“Hey, Astrid,” I say, startling her.

“Jenny,” she says. She closes her book and walks over to me. “Is it over? Have you caught the person who’s being trying to kill me?”

I nod yes, and Astrid breaks down in tears, happy that her ordeal is over. Frank sets me down and I take the princess into my arms.

“It’s all right.” I hug her. “Everything’s gonna be all right. No-one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

“Oh, Jenny, thank you,” Astrid sobs. “Thank you so much for everything. Stopping the assassin and keeping me safe. I am indebted to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything – I was simply doing my job. And speaking of which, you’re about to start yours tonight. So we need to get you cleaned up and ready for this coronation.”

Astrid pulls away and nods. “You’re right. It’s time for me to lead this nation. Let’s do this.”

I nod – and then I remember! “Just a sec.” I limp over to a section of the bookshelf and take a book from it. It’s a black leather book. The King Andreas scrapbook – kept in the one place in the castle that Ebony would never look. I snuck the book out of Astrid’s room and took it up here during one of the rehearsal breaks on Friday – using my cloaking device so I couldn’t be followed.

“OK, I’m ready!” I say. “Let’s go.”

Frank, Astrid and I head down the stairs where we meet up with Niklas. After Niklas and Astrid share a hug and a few tears, we head back down. Niklas takes Astrid to her room and Frank takes me down to the paramedics who are waiting outside. I’m given an ice pack for the knee to reduce the swelling, painkillers to relieve the pain, a pair of crutches as a mobility aid and advice for plenty of rest until the knee heals. That means no spy work for the next few weeks, which is good because now I’ll be able to concentre on the wedding.

After the paramedics leave, I change back into my ball gown, and Frank and I head back inside the castle.

xxoOoxx

Nearly an hour later, the time has come for Astrid to be crowned Queen of Faärland.

The guests have gathered in the chapel where the ceremony will take place (Though I should point out that the chapel is a bit like the TARDIS – it’s much bigger on the inside!)

I have the best seat in the chapel – not only am I sitting at the very front where I have a clear view of the ceremony, but I’m sitting next to the Queen and Prince Phillip. Minus the knee injury, this is the best day of my life!

And I bet Astrid is thinking the same thing. I wonder how she is at the moment. Nervous? Excited? Somewhere in-between? All in all, she is going to be an amazing queen. And as I told Astrid at the start of my mission, her parents will be looking down at her, and they’ll be very proud.

Just then the fanfare is trumpeted and everyone rises. The ceremony is about to start!

Preceding Astrid into the chapel is the coronation crown – a golden headpiece with colourful jewel shapes around it – carried by the Patriarch, who is flanked by two other peers, while the Bishops carries in the religious paraphernalia – the bible, paten, and chalice – and the peers hold the coronation regalia as the choir sings. Finally, Astrid enters the chapel with two attendant clergies – and she is a breathtaking vision. The empire-style gown which consists of a sleeveless, fitted top is made of satin, embellished with a golden braid and hemmed with a golden fringe. The jewellery suite includes pearl earrings, two double strand bracelets, and pearl necklace further accented with crystals.

Astrid is greeted at the altar by the Bishops with the words: “The Lord bless your going out and your coming in now and forevermore.”

Afterwards, Astrid sits herself upon the canopied throne in the choir, and everyone in the chapel sits back down. And with that the ceremony begins.

After these last few weeks for rehearsals and cheating death, it finally comes down to this. Astrid does everything perfectly – no stumbling or stuttering.

And after nearly an hour, it’s the moment everyone has been waiting for – the anointing and crowning. As the choir next sang the first part of the Faärlandic National Anthem, Astrid proceeds to a throne set up for her on a dais before the altar, with the Royal Standard being held at her right. She removes the mantle she worn during the procession into the church, and it is laid on the altar as the royal mantle is taken from the altar and placed over her shoulders by one of the Bishops and the Chief Justice.

After receiving her royal mantle – a rich red, velvet robe is beautifully embroidered and is lined with ermine – Astrid kneels before the altar as another Bishop anoints her right forearm and forehead with holy oil using a formula unique to the Faärlandic rite. Following this, Astrid sits herself upon her throne and the Patriarch stands before her with the coronation crown.

“This crown represents the laurel wreath of honour and victory worn by the ancients. It is made of precious metal to remind you of the price you have paid for the honour bestowed upon you this eve. Its weight upon your brow represents the burden of power, the responsibility of decision making and the encumbrance of leadership,” he says. “Do you accept this symbol of honour and responsibility?”

“I do,” Astrid replies.

Placing the crown on Astrid’s head, the Patriarch says, “May you wear this crown with honour and integrity worthy of your people.”

Then the bishop and the foreign minister hand Astrid the sceptre; followed by the orb, which is handed to her by the bishop and a Councillor of State. The bishop and another Councillor of State next hand Astrid the royal sword. Each item of the regalia is presented using a uniquely Faärlandic formula. Once all of the crown jewels have been given to the sovereign, the choir sing the second part of the Anthem and a part of another hymn, after which the bishop says a prayer for the newly crowned queen and gives her his blessing. Astrid returns to her throne in the choir wearing her crown and bearing her sceptre and orb.

“You are the new head of the family of Faärland, her new mother. She has given you her utmost treasures, the regalia of office. Represent her well. Protect her well. Lead her well. May the Grace of God be with you,” the Patriarch says to Astrid. He turns to us. “All rise and pay homage to the Queen of Faärland!”

Everyone in the chapel rises.

“Long live the Queen of Faärland!” says the Patriarch.

“Long live the Queen of Faärland!” we cry out.

Following this, two verses of the hymn ‘God bless our dear Fatherland’ is sung, and then the third part of the Anthem is sung by the choir while the bishops and clergy leave the sanctuary. Astrid then proceeds out of the chapel wearing her coronation mantle and regalia, thus concluding the ceremony.

I’m so happy for Astrid. A vision of grace, beauty, wisdom and strength of character, she’ll be fiercely dedicated to the well-being of her kingdom, and she’ll carry the weight of the kingdom on her shoulders through diplomacy.

After the guests and I leave the chapel, we are lead out into the garden where we are greeted by a fireworks display. I catch up with Frank, and together we enjoy the rest of the festivity. We dance all night and have a spectacular time.

By the time the party is over, it’s two in the morning. All the guests have gone home and Astrid has gone to bed, leaving only me, Frank, Niklas and the staff who are cleaning up the Great Hall who are still up.

“That was one heck of a party,” I say with a wide yawn when we come out of the Great Hall. “And the way Barack Obama was tearing up the floor with those break-dancing moves – I shall treasure that forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that Princess Astrid is now Queen Astrid, and you caught the person plotting to kill her,” says Frank.

“Hm. I’ll have to tell her in the morning who that person was – and it’s not gonna be easy. I mean, how do you tell someone that the person you have trusted is not only the assassin, but she’s also her half-sister?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way. Anyway, I better be off. I’ll see you back in the UK.”

He’s about to head for the door, but I catch him by his hand.

“Hey – why don’t you stay here tonight?” I suggest. “I mean, it’s really late and I highly doubt there’s a cab that’s willing to come this far out to drop you off at the airport.”

“I can stay here? Are you sure it’s OK?” Frank asks. “Shouldn’t we ask permission?”

“There is no reason to,” says a familiar voice, and we turn to see Niklas approaching us. “You are more than welcome to stay here. As Miss Brownstone said, it is rather late; and we have plenty of room. Think of it as a mark of gratitude for saving our newly crowned queen and her uncle. Follow me.”

Niklas leads me and Frank up the stairs to the royal guest rooms. When we enter the room, my bags from the last room are lying on the bed.

“There are some clothes to change into in the wardrobe and spare toiletries in the bathroom,” Niklas tells Frank. “Goodnight and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Niklas,” Frank and I say, and the short man leaves the room, closing the door behind me.

Frank goes to the wardrobe to get some pyjamas while I go to the bed to get mine from my bag. I take out my Camera Contact Lens and begin to undress. I change into an oversized T-shirt as putting on my pyjama bottoms will cause havoc to my knee. I hang the dress up and place my bags on the floor before climbing into bed with Frank. As soon as we’re under the covers, Frank pulls me into his arms.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he says, hugging me against him.

“Me too,” I sigh. “But not as much as I’ll miss the castle, the cosy goose-feathered bedding and Jonathan’s cooking – I’m gonna miss that most of all. I wonder if we can take him with us.”

Frank chuckles. “Only if you ask Queen Astrid nicely. Though I doubt she’ll say yes. Anyway” – he presses a tender kiss on my head – “goodnight, Jen.”

“Goodnight.” I snuggle against Frank and fall fast asleep, feeling warm and content.

xxoOoxx

The following morning, Niklas takes me and Frank down to the dining room for breakfast. Astrid is already there, looking like a ray of sunshine.

“Good morning!” she beams.

“Good morning, _Your Majesty_ ,” I say with a curtsy.

“It’s still Astrid. I may have a new title, but I’m still the same Astrid. So who’s your friend?”

“This, Astrid, is my lovely MI9 fiancé, Frank London.”

“How do you do,” he says, giving a nod from the head.

“How do you do,” Astrid responds. “Jenny has told me about you. And she was right when she said that you are ridiculously handsome.”

I giggle as a red stain seeps across Frank’s cheeks. “Yes, well…”

“I would also like to thank you for saving my Uncle Sigurðr. Niklas told me. I am forever grateful.”

“Well, you have Jen to thank for that. She made the assassin tell her where the Prince Regent was being held prisoner.”

“Again, I thank you. By the way, do you know who the assassin is?”

Frank and I glance at each other before turning to Astrid. “Astrid…” I start, “this is not going to be easy when I tell you this, but… the assassin is someone you didn’t expect.”

I sit down across Astrid and explain to her that her assassin is her former lady-in-waiting Ophelia Ingebreston, who is actually Ebony Asher – her half-sister. Then Frank and I take it in turns explaining to Astrid how Ebony is a relation to her, why she tried to kill her and finally telling her that she murdered King Andreas out of rejection and spite.

When we’re finished, Astrid turns away and sits in silence. I have no idea what she’s thinking. Is she upset? Is she pissed off? How is she feeling right now?

After about five minutes, I can’t take much more silence.

“Astrid? Are you OK?”

She shuts her eyes and keeps them shut for a moment. Then she turns back to me. “I’m disappointed.”

This is not the reaction I was hoping for.

“Disappointed?” I repeat.

“If Ophelia or Ebony or whatever her name is told me from the very start who she really was, I would have persuaded Father to let her be part of our family. Yes, the media would have torn my father apart for what he did, but we would have gotten past it somehow and got to know more about her. Instead, she lied and… killed my father. Part of me wants to scream and shout, while another part wants to punish the person who snatched my father away from me. But I know neither of those options is going to be helpful to me.”

“Listen to your heart. What is it telling you to do?” Frank asks.

Astrid sighs. “It’s telling me to forgive Ophelia. I know it sounds crazy, but at the same time it’s the right thing to do. That’s what my father would say. There was also something else he told me that my mother once said: “Forgiveness does not mean we must forever act as though the incident never happened. Forgiveness demands that we act as though the offense did happen and that we chose to forgive the person.” Even though what my father did was sinful, I decide to forgive him because I love him – and I’m sure my mother has, too. And as I came to love Ophelia like a sister when she acted as my assistant… I choose to forgive her, too.”

I reach out and take Astrid’s hand. “You’re a very kind-hearted person, Astrid,” I say. “You’ve shown compassion towards the person who did these horrendous acts to your family, proving that your kindness and pleasant aura will make you a beloved figure.”

Astrid smiles in response.

“If you want, I could call my superior and have her arrange for Ebony to be transferred to a prison here in Faärland rather than in the UK, so you’ll be able to visit her,” Frank suggests.

Astrid nods. “I would like that very much. Thank you,” she replies. “Anyway, let’s dig into this fine breakfast Jonathan made for us. We all have a busy schedule today.”

xxoOoxx

After breakfast, I return to my room and pack my bags. As much as I’ll miss Harvonia Castle and all the perks, I missed London and my family much more, and I can’t wait to get back.

Twenty minutes later and I’m ready to go. I take one last look at the luxurious room that I have spent nearly a week in, and leave. Niklas is waiting for me. He takes my bags and together we go downstairs to the entrance hall where Astrid and Frank are waiting for me.

“So this is it,” says Astrid.

“Yeah – it is,” I respond.

“I wish you could stay – but I know how much MI9 need you.”

“I wish I could take Jonathan with me. But I know his place is here with you.”

Astrid smiles at my comment. “I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, Jenny, for everything. You have no idea how grateful I am to you and MI9. And to show my gratitude, there’s something I want you to have.”

She hands me a small, black, square-shaped box. I open the box, and inside is a gold medal, about forty-three millimetres in diameter, with diamonds, suspended from a chain of gold. “It’s pretty,” I breathe.

“It’s the HM The Queen’s Medal, formerly the HM The King’s Medal,” says Astrid. “It is the highest award given to the Faärlandic and foreign citizens for special merits – in your case, Jenny, saving the Royal Family.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. “Wow, Astrid. I-I don’t what to…” I pause. “Thank you. It’s a really beautiful gift.”

“You deserve it.”

Just then, the doorbell rings. Niklas answers the door and lets out a cry: “ _Herregud_!”

“Niklas? What’s wrong?” Astrid asks. We go over to the door, and Astrid lets out a startled gasp. “Oh my!”

Standing in the doorway is an android. And the android looks exactly like me.

“But she… She looks like…” Astrid stammers. “She’s you!”

“Indeed she is,” I say. “Astrid, I would like to introduce you to the Jen-Droid – a mechanical android duplicate of me designed to act as friend and protector.”

“What? But I don’t understand.”

“I’d figured that you enjoyed my company for so much that you’ll be upset to see me go. So I made a call before breakfast and had a friend send the Jen-Droid to you. As well as looking like me, she sounds exactly like me and has the same mannerisms. The only difference is she can’t grow or physically change on her own accord due to her robot body. So what do you think?”

Like me with my medal, Astrid is at loss with words. For the second time today, I’ve made her speechless.

“Your Majesty? Are you all right?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, Astrid – say something,” I say.

Another moment of silence passes…

And Astrid throws her arms around me and hugs me hard.

“Oh, Jenny, thank you!” she cries. “I absolutely love it!”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, hugging back. “Now I know that no machine can ever replace me, so if you ever want to call – to that real me – I’ll answer. Whether it’s to talk or if you come to London on a state visit, just call, and you and I will have a night out on the town.”

Astrid laughs. “You bet.”

A black luxury car pulls up at the steps of the castle.

“Well, that’s my ride,” I say. “Goodbye, Astrid. Take care of yourself.”

“Likewise, Jenny,” she replies.

“Niklas – it’s been a pleasure. Take care of yourself and keep up at what you do.”

“I shall, Miss Brownstone,” he says.

Frank and I go down the steps to the car. The driver holds the door open and we climb in. As soon as our bags are in the truck and the driver enters the car, he starts the engine and pulls away. Astrid and I wave at each other as the car drives further and further away from Harvonia Castle until I can no longer see her or the castle. I settle back in my seat and stare out of the window.

“Hey?” I turn to Frank. “Are you all right?”

I smile in response. “Yeah,” I say. I’m fine.”

“You know that was very generous of you to give Queen Astrid that android.”

“Thanks. And that was only one of the two presents I gave her.”

“Oh? What’s the other present?”

“The scrapbook of her father Ebony kept in the woods. I left it on the bed of her new room. I’d figured that she needed it more than MI9 did. And I know what the King did was wrong, but I want the scrapbook to remind Astrid that her father was still the kind and caring father she loved dearly before he died.”

“Well, I think that’s a lovely idea. And I’m sure, like her father, Queen Astrid will be a humble figure, and will remain kind-hearted and self-loving, not allowing the bitterness of Ebony’s horrific acts to overtake her and morph her into someone like her half-sister.”

“I believe that, too, Frank.” I lean against him. “I believe that, too.”

We remain silent as the driver takes us to the airport.


	57. The Stag Night

**(Frank’s POV)**

Just another two weeks to go until the wedding. Well, two weeks from Saturday, to be specific.

Up until this time everything has gone plain sailing. But while there still one or two things to be sorted out, I’ll be having my stag party tonight – hosted by Zeke as he is my best man. The problem is I don’t know what he has planned – he hasn’t told me what we’ll be doing. I’ve been going round my head about what tonight’s going to be like. Will it be a rowdy night out in a pub or bar where I’ll be tied up to a lamppost in nothing but my underwear with obscenities written on me with a permanent marker pen? Or will it be an even rowdier weekend away in one of the many European countries famous for their stag parties and have a _Hangover_ -style stag, and everyone will wake up with me missing and no memory of the previous night’s events, and must find me before the wedding can take place? Who knows? But when I did ask Zeke about it, all he told was to trust him and not to worry.

Easier said than done, but what can I do except take his word for it. So all I can do is keep myself busy until this evening.

Like right now – I’m at MI9, along with Zeke, helping an Oxford-educated professor solve the problem with his latest invention: a nitrogen fuel turbine. We’re watching the experiment take place in the lab with the three of us behind the control room.

“The jet engine runs off of nitrogen in the air,” Professor Rossington explains as a large glass tube covers a jet engine.

“Incredible,” I say, as the engine is activated. “Do you know what this would mean?”

“Limitless free fuel,” Zeke answers.

“Precisely,” Professor Rossington nods.

But as we watch, the engine turns bright red, overheating. It explodes, sending shrapnel from the engine to our direction.

“Get down!” I yell, and the three of us scramble for cover as the shrapnel punctures the control room’s viewing window, showering us in glass.

After avoiding that disaster, the professor, Zeke and I gingerly get on our feet, dusting ourselves down from glass and debris.

“However the engine is imperfect because a corrosive by-product was created,” Professor Rossington explains.

Zeke reaches out and touches the metal, singeing his finger in the process. “Talk about your big bang theories,” he responds.

“Ah, well. Back to the old drawing board, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, professor. We’ll find a way to get rid of that by-product,” I assure him. “Let’s call it a day. Maybe by Monday there might be something we can do.”

Professor Rossington and Zeke nod in agreement.

As the fire is finally put out, the three of us are escorted out of the lab and out of the building where a car is waiting for us.

The driver drops off Professor Rossington at his hotel, then Zeke (not before he tells me I have to be ready within the hour), and then me.

When I let myself in the house, I’m about to call out to Jenny that I’m home when I suddenly realize that she isn’t home. She’s at her parent, where she’ll be spending the next two weeks. I should explain. A few days ago Jen and I decided to spend the next couple of weeks apart without contact before the wedding. It was something that she saw on _Don’t Tell the Bride_ – except I don’t have to single-handedly organize every aspect of the event and attire. On the one hand, it might be exciting to see Jen on the wedding day after not seeing her for two weeks. On the other hand, I may end up yearning for her as I miss seeing her face and hearing her voice. But as I said before, I need to keep myself busy until the big day.

Anyway after remembering about what Jenny and I agreed on, I head for the kitchen to make myself a coffee and a quick snack. After that I head upstairs to the en-suite bathroom for a shower. When I’m finished I enter the bedroom… and find some clothes laid out for me on the bed – along with a weekend roller case and a note from Jen to say that the clothes on the bed are what I’ll be wearing for my stag party tonight.

“There are more clothes in the bag; along with some spare cash and a mobile phone should you lose your current possessions,” Jenny scribbles to me. “Also a Spy Watch if you need finding should Zeke lose you – or if you need to change into your spy outfit to kick bad guy butt.”

“I seriously doubt SKUL will disrupt my stag night,” I mutter.

I read on. She can’t wait to see me on the wedding and she can’t wait to be my wife. Hugs and kisses.

“P.S. – the man bun looks good with the outfit that I chose. Just saying,” Jenny writes.

I smile. Even when we’re far apart, she will still advise what looks good on me.

I towel myself dry and put on my ensemble: black cropped trousers, a smart, crisp white shirt paired with a blue plaid jacket, accompanied with a luxe pair of black leather loafers. I decide to comply with Jenny’s request and style my hair into a man bun – my hair is long enough for it. Maybe before the wedding I should have my hair cut short.

By the time I’m finished and checking myself out in front of the full-length mirror, I get a text from Zeke that a car will be coming to pick me up.

I grab my roller case and head out the house – and right on time, a black car stops on the kerb. The driver that steps out is Victor Bishop, Zeke’s chauffeur.

“All right, Frank?” he greets me, taking my case.

“Hey, Victor,” I reply, watching him put my case in the trunk. “Where’s Zeke?”

“He and the others are waiting for you at the hotel. I’ll be taking you to them.”

“A hotel? But…?”

“No time for questions, Frank. Just hop in and enjoy the ride,” Victor says, holding the door open for me.

I do what’s said and get in the car. There’s no point asking anymore questions. Victor must have been sworn to secrecy by Zeke about the events for this evening – as have Oscar and Percy. They’re also invited to the stag do and waiting for me at the hotel – wherever that is. Now I know what you’re thinking: why is a teenager getting invited to a boisterous night out where a night of heavy drinking is involved? It’s simple really – on Monday, it was Oscar’s birthday. So Zeke decided to celebrate Oscar’s sixteenth birthday by having him tag along to my stag – and I don’t mind one bit. But even though he’s invited and disguised with the Age-Deceiving Pills, Oscar will be accompanied by his foster parent and fellow agent, Percy – who will ensure that Oscar doesn’t have a single drop of alcohol.

I arrive at my destination less than fifteen minutes later. Victor opens the door for me, I climb out and I find the car is surrounded as if it’s a super-charged F1 racing car making an emergency pit stop.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“Hype Park Corner,” Victor replies. “You’ll be spending your stag weekend at the Lanesborough.”

“The Lanesborough?!” I gape. “You mean I’m spending the weekend at Britain’s most expensive hotel where even the cheapest room is £720 a night?”

“You know Zeke. He’ll do anything for his friends.”

“I’ll say. Right… I better get my bag and…”

“Your bag has been taken while we were talking. It’ll be in your room long before you get there. Your personal butler will take you there right now.”

As if by magic, a well-dressed man appears in front of me – causing me to squeak in surprise.

“Enjoy your stag,” says Victor, and then her enters the car and drives off.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Lennox, your butler during your stay at the Lanesborough,” he says. “Let me escort you to your room.”

“Thank you, Lennox,” I say. “My friend, Zeke is staying here – along with some other friends.”

“Ah yes – the stag group. You’ll be staying in the Royal Suite. Follow me.”

I’m escorted down the handsome limestone corridor by Lennox. En route, I pass three original paintings by Sir Joshua Reynolds and learn that the hotel has the largest collection of 18th-century paintings in the world outside any gallery.

Lennox and I exit the lift after arriving on the floor of the Royal Suite, and I can see someone rushing towards us, waving. It’s Zeke. His versatile outfit looks out of place against an opulent building recreating 18th century Regency London – a T-shirt sporting graphic stripes of blue, peach and grey, the grey jeans are casually cool; and the black boots complete the look.

“Frank – you made it!” Zeke says, approaching me. He turns to Lennox. “It’s OK, Len – I can take it from here. Here’s something for your troubles. Call it a raise.”

Zeke hands the butler a wad of twenty-pound notes.

“Very good, sir,” says Lennox, and takes his leave.

“This way, Frank,” says Zeke, leading me down the corridor.

“You know, you didn’t have to do this,” I say. “Staying at the most expensive hotel in London…”

“Nonsense! I want you to have the best experience while staying here. And let me promise you this – this stag weekend is going to top everybody else’s, and it’ll be rated as the greatest bin history!”

We arrive at a set of grand double-doors. We enter, and go down an expansive entrance hall into a resplendent living area, flooded with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Wellington Arch and Buckingham Palace Gardens.

“Welcome to the Royal Suite,” says Zeke. “I booked this room months ago what I saw what it had to offer. Extending across 4800 square feet, its seven bedrooms and bathrooms, two living rooms and dining room exude exquisite taste, impeccable British craftsmanship and exciting attention to period detail – the hallmarks of its distinguished designer, the late, great Alberto Pinto.”

“It’s spectacular,” I say in awe, walking further into the room. The room reflects the elegance and grandeur of Regency palaces and stately homes, reinvigorated by vibrant period décor, the finest fabrics and handcrafted furnishings such as the mahogany dining table and matching chairs that can seat up to twelve people, which is served from an adjoining galley kitchen.

The richly elegant surroundings offer exceptional comfort and the height of modern, high-tech luxury. The suite includes a study, tablet-controlled room conditions and integrated entertainment systems, and finest Italian marble-panelled bathrooms with double vanity units, rejuvenating spa baths and separate steam showers.

After that amazing tour I suddenly realize that I haven’t seen any of the other guys who I was told would be here. Where are they?

I leave one of the seven bathrooms and return to the leaving area to ask Zeke when, from the corner of my eye, a group of people burst out from a secret door, releasing balloons and ribbons.

“Surprise!” they yell.

“Holy sh…!” I exclaim, restraining myself from swearing – but to be honest, I am completely taken by surprised.

“Happy Stag Weekend!” the group cheer.

“Oh, my God – what the hell is wrong with you people?!” I cry “You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!”

Zeke steps forward, laughing his head off. “I’m sorry, Frank. It was my idea – I couldn’t resist,” he says.

I’ve calmed down now – my heartbeat returning to its normal pace.

“You’re such a nut,” I say.

“I know, I know. So am I forgiven?”

I think about my answer for a few seconds before telling Zeke that he’s forgiven. After that he introduces me to his two friends: Kenzie Sims and Hayden Haywood, a.k.a., Hay-Hay.

Kenzie is one of the few people who knows of Jenny being the Cat and has helped her out on a few of her missions. He’s your standard tall, dark and handsome type of guy – with his square jaw, sharp features, short black hair, icy blue eyes and an extremely athletic build. He wears a short-sleeved top that mixes patterns in black and grey with red denim jeans with faded details. The tan work boots with golden trim is a trendy complement. Zeke’s other friend, Hay-Hay, is a blogger and “…a celebrity in training”, in search of riches and fame. I can’t blame him – he is conventionally attractive; tall and lean, but broad-shouldered and light muscled with a glowing (fake) tan. Sweeping eyelashes and perfect dark hair are set off by chiselled jawlines. The hips look is complete with green and white striped T-shirt, denim skinny jeans and white Converse shoes.

After I introduce myself to them, I greet Percy and Oscar – or Aiden Richardson, Percy’s nephew from Essex. With the help of the Age-Deceiving Pill, Oscar, or Aiden, has aged at least ten years, giving him a structural and muscular body with broad shoulders. And for his outfit, he’s paired a blue and white graphic T-shirt with dark denim jeans. A white pair of shoes completes the outfit for a polished look.

When all of that is done, Zeke calls of us to gather round. As we take our seats on the floral chintz sofa. Zeke is standing in front of the grand fireplace.

“Gentlemen – welcome to the Stag/Birthday Weekend Extravaganza. I am your host, Zeke Williams. Tonight, we’ll be celebrating my good friend, Frank’s last days of freedom as a single man shortly before he enters marriage. At the same time, we’ll be celebrating my other good friend, Aiden’s birthday, as he turned twenty-six on Monday.”

There are cheers for me and Oscar.

“And this is how we’re gonna celebrate these events,” Zeke continues. “Tonight we’re gonna start off with a pub crawl. We’re gonna drink so hard we’ll be seeing pink elephants. Then on Saturday, if anyone is sober enough and well enough for it, we’re gonna go paintballing and laser tagging. Finally on Sunday, some rest and relaxation at the hotel spa before kicking back with a game of poker. Who’s with me?”

“We are!” we cry.

“Then let’s get this party started! Let’s start off our pub crawl. I called for an assortment of drinks to be sent up here. They should be arriving any second now…”

There’s a knock before the door opens and Lennox, along with five butlers, bring in crates of drinks.

“Right on time, gents!” says Zeke. “Over here – by the table, please.”

One by one, the butlers place the crates next to the table. As they leave, Zeke tips them with another wad of cash. Then he opens the crates and brings out cans and bottles of alcoholic beverages, juices, and soft drinks and places them on the table.

“All right, fellas…” Zeke says, picking up a bottle of beer. “Let’s get drinking!”

We dive in, picking either a bottle or can of drink and we start downing them. While the rest of us chug down on alcohol, Oscar opts for a juice, and explains that he’s a teetotaller and can’t stand alcohol.

After than an hour of drinking I feel slightly buzzed, but not too drunk yet.

“OK, guys, let’s head out!” says Zeke.

We cheer as we head out of our luxury suite. When we step out of the hotel, we find a black stretch limo waiting for us, the door held open by Victor.

The six of us cheer again as we enter the limo with Zeke giving instructions to Victor as to where to drop us off. All of us are messing around and singing songs very loudly as we get driven into central London. We also help ourselves to the bat installed in the limo. About ten minutes later we get dropped off at Soho – and properly begin our pub crawl.

We spend five minutes walking around when we come across a twenty-four hour off licence. We help ourselves to a few cans of lager – all paid for by Zeke – and we carry on stumbling and tripping through the streets of London.

Three hours later after downing beers in pubs, necking Jägerbombs in cocktail bars, and finding ourselves doing a conga in a nightclub, we find ourselves sitting in Leicester Square sipping on water after Hay-Hay and I throw from swigging several mouthfuls of vodka straight from the bottle. Also we are seriously dehydrated. I find Hay-Hay shivering violently so I take off my blazer and drape it over his shoulders.

“Thanks, Frank,” he stammers. “I can see why Jen wants to marry you. You’re so sweet.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

Hay-Hay looks me up and down. “If only I was a girl, huh?”

“Heh, if only…” I say, suddenly regretting it immediately. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Still, even if Hay-Hay was a girl, I’d still choose Jenny over him.

Oscar heads over to us. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Like I’m ready to rock and roll,” says Hay-Hay.

“If you do that you might be sick again,” I say – and Hay-Hay chuckles.

“Well, if you guys are ready, Zeke is taking us to one more club,” says Oscar. “He’s says it’s be out of this world.”

Hay-Hay and I climb to our feet and follow Oscar out of Leicester Square. The limo is waiting for us outside the tube station. The three of us enter the limo, joining Zeke, Kenzie and Percy, and we head for our next destination.

While everyone raids the bar, I decide to slow it down a bit and take a leaf out of Oscar’s book by having juices and soft drinks.

A few minutes later we reach our destination. We get greeted by flashing lights and screaming people we jump out of the limo.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The BT Tower,” says Zeke. “A daughter of an Arab oil sheikh has rented the rotating restaurant and transformed it into a nightclub. Tonight’s the opening night.”

“Awesome! Let’s par-tay!” Hay-Hay cheers.

The six of us head for the door, where the bouncers let us in – no questions.

The club is on the 36th floor and the lift swoops up faster than your stomach can cope. That’s why I suddenly feel so weird – that and the thumping I’m getting in my head. After tonight I am never ever ever going to drink another drop of alcohol in my life.

But it’s all OK the minute I step _out_ of the lift and _into_ the club. The floor-to-ceiling windows around the club offer a 360-degree bird’s-eye view of London. There’s incredible strobes and the music is so loud and there’s smoky-cloud stuff pumping all over the place enhancing the effects of lighting and laser arrangements. Hay-Hay takes me by the wrist and we get onto the dance floor. I’m not too bad at dancing but I generally worry in case anyone’s looking at me in case I’m making a fool of myself and I might get mocked – but now I just get into the rhythm and leap around like I’m part of the crowd. I _am_ the crowd. We’re _all_ the crowd and it’s truly fantastic.

Only we get tired eventually and go get a drink. Hay-Hay orders a vodka and cranberry juice, while I have the juice without the vodka. It’s more refreshing that way.

Kenzie comes over telling me how he asked the DJ what sound system he’s using – however, he explains to Kenzie that it is his first day on the job along with everyone else on the club’s staff.

“The club’s staff policy is a bit strange, don’t you think?” he asks.

“Who cares? We’re partying at the most exclusive club in London!” says Hay-Hay before I have a chance to answer. Kenzie shrugs his shoulders and orders himself a beer.

As Hay-Hay rushes back to the dance floor, this older woman with cropped hair and nose stud comes up and starts hitting on Kenzie, leaning over and whispering in his ear. God knows what would happen if he gets off with her as it’s a ladies-free weekend – but Kenzie shakes his head and she goes away.

“What was she saying?” I ask.

“Oh, she was pushing E and whizz and all that junk,” says Kenzie.

“Really?”

“It’s OK. I made it plain we’re not into drugs.”

I nod and carry on sipping my juice.

“You know you’re very lucky to be with Jen,” Kenzie tells me. “I only say that because when I first saw her, I was majorly crushing on her. I used to flirt with her like no tomorrow. But then Zeke told me how she fell for you big time – I knew I was out of the running.”

I stare at Kenzie for a moment before breaking into a smile. To think Jenny could have had any bloke in the world – even Kenzie – but she still chose me. I am definitely lucky to have her.

“I don’t know what you did to make her fall head over heels in love with you, but you need to let me in on your secret so I can get a girl of my own that way.”

“Sorry, Kenzie – but I’m taking that secret to the grave,” I say, fingertip to nose.

Kenzie and I dance again, joining Zeke, Hay-Hay, Percy and Oscar. But after another fifteen minutes I’m starting to get ever so tired. And I think the others are too.

“Guys – I think we should call this a night,” Zeke says – well, yells so we can hear him above the music.

We all nod and we start to edge our way over to the exit when the music that’s playing suddenly stops.

“Hey – what’s happened to the music?”

“Switch it back on!”

“It wasn’t me!” says the DJ.

Everyone murmurs in confusion. If the DJ didn’t stop the music, then who did?

My question is answered when right on cue, the TV monitors behind the bar switches on by itself – and my mouth drops open when I see the person’s face on the screen.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“Please tell me I’m not seeing this?” Zeke asks. “I mean… I’m not _that_ drunk, am I?”

“No, you’re not hallucinating – we can see him too,” says Percy.

“It’s the Grandmaster,” says Oscar.

“Greetings, fellow clubbers,” says the Grandmaster. “I’m just calling to personally thank you all… for falling into my trap!”

“I don’t like where this is going,” says Oscar.

“Neither do I,” we need to get everyone out of here.”

Zeke jumps onto the bar. “Everyone – you need to leave right now! You’re all in danger!”

The crowd head for the lift – but panic ensues when the doors don’t open.

“There’s no need to panic, everyone. Relax,” says the Grandmaster. “You’ll all be taking a trip of a lifetime… to outer space!”

“Outer space?!” we cry.

As the screen goes black, panicked screams fill the club as people desperately try to exit the club, but to no avail. Suddenly the ground starts to shake, shift and quake. I turn to the windows to find no view of London – but the sky as the club flies into the air. The velocity causes me and everyone in the club to get pinned to the ground.

While everybody is screaming blue murder, questions come at me – why is the Grandmaster doing this? How much will he demand for? What will he do if MI9 say no?

Suddenly I’m feeling a little worse for wear – like I’m going to throw up. I try to hold it in, but the room is hurtling round and round.

My stomach lurches…

Oh no!


	58. Spies in Space

**(Jenny’s POV)**

“Come on! Come on!” I mutter, willing my Jetpack Backpack to fly me over to MI9 HQ as fast as it can.

At first I thought it was all a joke. I got a call from Livi, who was on a night out with friends, telling me how she witnessed a building fly up into the air. It wasn’t until I turned on the news that this was no joke. A nightclub at the BT Tower has been launched into space – and it contains my friends and my fiancée! I immediately sprang into action – I changed into my spy suit (luckily my parents are visiting Aunt Hermione and Uncle Richie and I had the house to myself) and I raced out of the house and flew over to Thames House.

When I get to HQ, I land on the roof and head for the door. Down the stairs I go and straight for the lift to take me down to the floor where Director Fairchild’s office is.

The second the doors open, I jump out of the lift and sprint through the corridors. I don’t stop until I reach the office and without knocking, I burst through the door and standing in the room is Director Fairchild, Stark and Professor Rossington. They are standing by the TV monitor, watching the club enter into orbit around Earth.

“I… I’m sorry for… barging in like that, Ma’am,” I pant. “But I… I had to see for myself that… this was someone’s idea of… of a joke.”

“Well, as you can see, it isn’t,” Stark interjects. “Now why don’t you run along back home and let the grown-ups take care of this. It doesn’t concern you.”

“Like hell it does!” I say, marching up to him. “Not when my fiancée and friends are in that club.”

“Frank is up there?” Director Fairchild asks.

I nod. “Along with Zeke, Oscar, his foster parent Percy and a couple of friends of mine.” I turn to Stark. “So don’t you dare say that this doesn’t concern me – because it does. And, by the way, if you ever try to undermine me like that again, I will have your arse kicked so hard that you’ll find yourself floating up in space like a blob in a lava lamp.”

My implied death threat and even deadly glare has seemed to taken Stark down a peg or two. “OK,” he timidly says, and shirks himself away from me.

“Anyway…” I turn back to Director Fairchild. “Do we have any idea who’s behind the club’s launch?”

Before the director can answer, the Grandmaster appears on the screen.

“Greetings, MI9,” he says.

This prompts me to quip, “Well, surprise bloody surprise.”

“Grandmaster,” says Director Fairchild. “Of course you’ll be the one responsible concocting another ridiculous scheme. Would I be hopelessly naïve to ask for the club to be returned to Earth?”

“No, not naïve,” the Grandmaster replies. “Merely stupid. Here’s how it’ll go down: you have exactly thirty minutes to give Professor Rossington to SKUL or I will activate the explosives on the club.”

My eyes are wide with horror.

“You time… starts… now.” The Grandmaster switches off.

“Director, what are you going to do?” Professor Rossington asks.

“Well, I’ll tell you what she’s not going to do – give in to SKUL.” I walk over to the director. “We can’t give up the professor. You’ve always said that MI9 doesn’t negotiate with terrorist and maniacs – and we’re not going to start now.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Agent Brownstone,” says Stark. (That’s a first!) “There has to be another way.”

“Hm.” Director Fairchild is in deep thought. “I suppose I could make a call to the UK Space Agency – see if they can send a rescue ship.”

She picks up the phone and starts dialling. While she’s doing that, I collapse on the chair and let out a deep sigh. Part of me is worried and scared about what’s happening with Frank and everybody else in the club. But another part of me knows that Frank and the others will think of some way of returning to Earth.

I wonder how they’re coping.

**(Frank’s POV)**

“We’re all gonna die!” a man freaks out over the panicked screaming and crying in the nightclub.

The only calm and sane people in the room are me, Zeke, Oscar, Percy, Kenzie and Hay-Hay. I can see that Zeke is trying to think of a plan – but it’s hard to hear yourself think over the pandemonium.

“Oh, it’s useless!” he exclaims. “How can I think of anything with all this noise?”

“Don’t worry, Zeke. I’ve got this,” says Hay-Hay, and he swims his way over to the DJ station where a microphone is floating above the decks. Hay-Hay grabs the mic and calls out to everyone.

“Guys, you need to stay calm. You need to… Guys? Guys?”

But everyone is too busy panicking to listen.

“Right then.” Hay-Hay inhales a massive breath.

“Uh-oh,” says Kenzie. “Guys, cover your eyes. Don’t ask – just do it.”

We comply – and just in time as Hay-Hay yells, “QUIET!” to everyone, which shocks the whole club into silence.

“Ahem. Thank you,” he says. “Look, guys, I know you’re all scared – but right now you must remain calm. I’m pretty sure that people back in London are doing everything they can to rescue us. I mean this isn’t something you see every day – nightclubs getting launched into space. But trust, help is on the way. In the meantime, I urge you all to grab onto something that’s bolted to floor to prevent any of you from floating around. And thirdly… enjoy the view! I mean, hello! Like that dressing-gown loony told us, we’re on a trip of a lifetime. Something us mere mortals would have never ever even dream about witnessing. So we shouldn’t be panicking – we should be marvelling at Planet Earth in all its natural beauty.”

And he’s right – I am in awe. It suddenly strikes me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, is the Earth. No words can describe it. Beautiful. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Everyone else seems to think so too. By looking at their expression, I can tell that even _they_ are impressed. I can hear comments like, “Amazing!”, “Awesome!” and “I can’t believe it!”

“Wow,” Oscar breathes, awe-struck. “I never thought I’d lay eyes on a sight like this again…”

“Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar D. Mitchell had this to say about viewing the Earth from the Moon,” Percy says, marvelling at the blue planet. “You develop an instant global consciousness, a people orientation, an intense dissatisfaction with the state of the world, and a compulsion to do something about it. From out there on the moon, politics look so petty. You want to grab a politician by the scruff of the neck and drag him a quarter of a million miles out and say, ‘Look at that, you son of a bitch’.”

“It is the most awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen. Giver of life, mother of us all,” says Kenzie.

“As Louis Armstrong said: ‘What a wonderful world’,” says Zeke with all of us humming in agreement. A second later he claps his hands together to grab our attention. “Anyway, guys, we’ve got to focus. We need to find a way of getting back to Earth.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Percy asks. “There’s nothing up here to help us and we have no way to contact anyone because our phones don’t work.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Percy,” I say, holding up my Spy Watch.

Zeke gasps. “Frank London, you are an absolute genius! I could kiss you.”

“Don’t thank me. Jen told me to wear it in case anything happens to me. Who would have thought she’d be right?”

“I know. And now that we have a source of communication with us, we can contact Earth.”

“We need some privacy – we can’t do it out here,” says Oscar.

“Head for the men’s room,” Kenzie suggests. “I’ll guard the door and make sure no-one enters.”

So that’s just what we do. Luckily there’s no-one in the room when we enter – but we lock the door behind us just as a precaution. I make the call to MI9 – I hope it works…

“Hello? Can anybody hear me? This is Agent Frank London. Do you read me?”

I wait a few seconds, and then I hear the reply. “Hello, Frank. It’s Director Fairchild.”

“Yes! It worked!” Zeke cheers.

“Are you all right up there?” the director asks.

“We’re fine, Ma’am,” I reply. “I’m here with Oscar, Percy and Zeke. Do you have any idea why a nightclub has launched us into space?”

“It’s the Grandmaster. He’s the one responsible. He demands that we hand over Professor Rossington to him or he’ll detonate the explosives on the club.”

“Explosives?!” we scream.

“But don’t worry. I’ve made a few calls to the UK Space Agency to send a rescue ship to the club. It should be there within the next hour. In the mean… tight and keep…”

“Ma’am? Ma’am, I didn’t catch that,” I say. “Hello? Hello?”

The line goes dead.

“Well, that’s just great,” Percy retorts. “So what, we just twiddle our thumbs and wait for help to arrive?”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Percy,” says Oscar. “We just have to hope that help does come.”

I hope so too – otherwise it’ll be curtains for us.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

You have no need how happy I am hearing Frank’s voice. Tears are spilling down my cheeks as he talks to Director Fairchild. I wish I could talk to him – but I made a promise not to get in contact with him until the wedding. I’m so glad that he took the Spy Watch with him – but I never thought it’ll be used to communicate from over a million miles above the Earth’s atmosphere. I hope he and the others get back to Earth safely.

Director Fairchild is telling the guys that help is on the way and they should sit tight and keep calm – but the transmission is cut off. And to make matters worse, the Grandmaster’s face appears on the TV screen once more.

“Your thirty minutes are nearly up, Director Fairchild,” he states. “And unless Professor Rossington surrenders to SKUL, the club will be destroyed in five… four… three… two…”

“I surrender!” the professor exclaims at the last second.

“What?!” I say, turning to him. “Professor, you can’t do that!”

“Professor, please, you must reconsider,” Director Fairchild pleads.

“Director, you’ve got to remember that it’s not just your agents who are held captive but dozens of innocent civilians,” Professor Rossington states.

Stark shakes his head. “No. You’re not going anywhere, professor,” he says. He turns to the screen. “MI9 does not give into demands, Grandmaster!”

“Oh? Brave talk for a man standing on the ground, he calmly replies. “Anyway, I’m talking to the organ grinder, not the monkey.”

Stark splutters at the insult. If we weren’t having crisis, I’d be laughing right now.

“A helicopter will be arriving in twenty minutes to pick up the professor,” the Grandmaster continues. “And no funny business – otherwise I’ll make good on my promise and I’ll have the club blown up.”

And with that, the screen goes black.

Professor Rossington lets out a sigh. “I must apologize. I shouldn’t have given myself up to SKUL so easily,” he says.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “We understand, professor,” I say. “But you shouldn’t worry for long – we’ll stage a rescue long before you reach whatever rock the Grandmaster is hiding under.”

“Ugh, I feel like gagging when I say this again, but Agent Brownstone is right,” says Stark. (That’s something short of miracle.) “And right about now, UKSA should be ready to launch their space shuttle.”

The phone rings.

“Hello?” Director Fairchild answers. “What?! When did this happen. OK. I understand.” She hangs up and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Director? Is everything all right?” Professor Rossington asks.

“That was UKSA,” she says. “Five minutes ago, the rescue shuttle was attacked by black fighter jets with picture of a skull on its underbelly. You don’t need three guesses to work out who was behind the attacks. So now we have no way of getting to the club.”

“Well, isn’t that just super-duper?” I remark sarcastically while scowling at Stark for jinxing it.

You are a tit, Stark. An absolute tit.

**(Frank’s POV)**

It’s been ten minutes since my contact with MI9 was cut off. I’ve been mindlessly floating around the club with Oscar, Percy and Kenzie waiting for the rescue shuttle to arrive while everyone else is enjoying the once-in-a-lifetime view, and taking pictures. Zeke on the other hand is using my Spy Watch to run architectural scan of the club to locate the explosives.

“Hey, guys?” says Kenzie. “I really don’t want to come across as a worrywart, but what happens if this Grandmaster guy gets what he wants? Do you really think he’ll let us go? Because I don’t think that’s his style.”

For a few minutes no-one says anything – mainly because we don’t have the answer. And even if we did, I don’t think anyone wants to say it in case it does happen.

“Sorry,” Kenzie says. “I didn’t mean to be a downer.”

“No, Kenzie, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “It’s just… we don’t know what the Grandmaster is going to do. The only thing we can do is to wait for help to come and not to think about… the other thing. OK?”

He nods. “OK.”

A few seconds later, Zeke swims over to us.

“OK, gang, I’ve made some calculations and it looks like that there is enough air available for twenty-four hours inside the club,” he informs us. “Also there are four explosives located in a cardinal direction around the outside of the club, like a compass: north, south, east, and west. And judging by how the bombs look, they should be easy to deactivate. I can use the Spy Watch to change into a space suit, step out of the club and remove the charges.”

“Sounds like a plan, Zeke,” says Oscar. “We should probably get it green-lighted before we go ahead with it.”

“We could – if we had some form of communication, since our transmission was cut off,” I say.

“Already solved that problem,” says Zeke. “I reconfigured the wiring of the watch so the transmission won’t be disrupted again.”

We stare at him in amazement.

“No need to thank me, gents – I’m just a gadgeteer genius. Now let’s contact Earth.”

We head back to the men’s room. Again, Kenzie guards the door while the rest of us get in touch to MI9.

Zeke explains his plan to Director Fairchild. “…so by the time I’m done deactivating the explosives, the rescue shuttle would be here,” he finishes.

“Hmmmm,” she says with a grim expression.

“What’s wrong, Ma’am?” Zeke asks. “Don’t you like the plan?”

She clears her throat. “No, no. My apologizes, Zeke,” she says. “No, I like the plan. It’s just… well…”

“Ma’am?” I say.

“Agents, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… I received a call from UKSA. Ten minutes ago, the rescue shuttle was attacked.”

I gasp while everyone groans.

“Damn SKUL!” Percy says with a snap. “They must have intercepted the director’s phone conversation. Now what are we going to do?”

“I suggest you go ahead with the plan,” Director Fairchild replies. “Meanwhile the rest of us down here will put our heads together to try and think of a way to get the club back to Earth. Over and out.”

The director switches off. For a moment, no-one says anything. If we don’t find a way of returning to Earth, we’ll either suffocate or get blown into smithereens.

Suddenly, Zeke claps his hands together. “OK, guys – snap out of it,” he says. “We’ve been given a task and it’s time to execute it. I know – poor choice of words. Let’s get to work.”

Zeke uses the Spy Watch to change into a futuristic spacesuit, complete with boots, space helmet and jet pack so he can propel in space. We leave the toilets and head for the staircase as it’s acting like an airlock.

“We’ll be able to communicate with each other with the radio that’s installed in my helmet,” Zeke tells us. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” we respond.

“Be careful, man,” Kenzie adds.

And like that, Zeke enters the airlock.

“He’ll be OK,” I assure the others. “To him it’ll be a piece of cake.”

The others nod in agreement. However they are in doubt about being rescued. And as much as I want to agree with that, I’ve still got to believe that Director Fairchild and the rest of MI9 will think of a way to bring us back home.

**(Jenny’s POV)**

I’m standing on the roof of MI9 with Director Fairchild, Stark and Professor Rossington waiting for the SKUL helicopter to arrive. I still can’t believe we’re doing the one thing I never thought MI9 would ever do: give in to SKUL. And without a plan to rescue the professor or the people trapped in the club that’s in outer space, we’re left with no other options.

We watch as the helicopter flies over the roof.

“I never thought I’d see the day we let SKUL come over here unchallenged,” I say, with Director Fairchild and Stark concurring.

The helicopter lands on the helipad. The door slides open, and a SKUL henchman steps out.

“Right then – here I go,” says Professor Rossington.

“Professor, please won’t you reconsider?” Director Fairchild pleadingly asks.

“I’m sorry, Director, but I am committed to my decision.”

We watch helplessly as Professor Rossington walks over to the helicopter and climbs aboard. The SKUL henchman climbs inside and slides the door shut. As we watch the helicopter take off, a frustrated Stark kicks the ground.

I can’t believe it’s finally happened. SKUL has won.

**(Frank’s POV)**

Ten minutes has passed since Zeke ventured out into space to remove the explosives. I hope he manages to deactivate them all before the Grandmaster has a chance to detonate them.

“Oh, what’s keeping him?” says Kenzie, agitated. “I’d thought he’d be finished by now. He’s been gone for far too long.”

“Kenzie, you’ve got to be patient,” Oscar tells him. “Zeke is a smart guy – he knows what he’s doing. Just give him a few more minutes, OK?”

He nods. “Yeah, no, you’re right. OK. Sorry about that.”

As Oscar pats Kenzie on the shoulder, Hay-Hay makes his way over to us.

“Hi, guys!” he says. “Sorry I haven’t hung around with you in the last half-hour. I had to act as the level-headed, responsible leader, calming everybody down. I was comforting this crying girl and her friend, making them feel better when suddenly I was earning the affection of several girls in the club; I mean these girls were drawing to me like bears to honey. I was charming the pants off them, flirting with them like there was no tomorrow. I even got off with a couple of them – despite the fact that they have boyfriends! Anyway I managed to get their numbers and scored a few dates with them. How about that!”

“ _What?_ ” we say.

Hay-Hay grins. “Just call me Jack-the-Lad. Cocky, cheeky and devil-may-care, I’m the type of guy you can’t help but like, even as I’m wrapping you around my little finger. Anyway, that’s enough about me. Where’s Zeke?”

“Er…” we stare at one another, thinking of an answer.

“He’s in the men’s room?” Percy says.

“The men’s room?” Hay-Hay repeats, confused.

“Now I know what you’re thinking, Hay-Hay,” I say. “But this is Zeke you’re looking at. Whatever problem he faces, he finds a solution to it.”

“And miraculously, he has found a solution of using the toilet in zero gravity,” Oscar adds.

Hay-Hay stares at us. After a few seconds he shrugs his shoulders. “Huh. I suppose you’re right.”

We all mentally sigh in relief. Just then I feel the vibration of my Spy Watch.

Kenzie notices and leaps into action. “Hey, Hay-Hay – how about telling me about those girls you got off with,” he says, taking his friend away.

While he does that, I head for the men’s room with Percy and Oscar guarding the door.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Frank – it’s Director Fairchild,” she says.

“Ma’am!” I say, relieved. “Have you found a way to bring us back?”

“I’m afraid not, Frank – sorry. And I apologize further with more bad news. I’ve received an anonymous call from what sounds like the Mole from SKUL. He’s informed me that the Grandmaster has activated the charges and the explosives will detonate in five minutes.”

“Oh crap!” I exclaim. I switch off from the director, and relay the information to Oscar and Percy.

“Better radio Zeke the bad news,” Percy tells me.

I swap frequencies from MI9 to Zeke. “Zeke, come in – this is Frank. You have exactly five minutes to deactivate the charges before they go off.”

No reply.

I try again. “Zeke – are you there? Zeke? Zeke?”

Silence.

“Something must have happened to him,” says Oscar. “But what?”

“I’ll know when I get him,” I say. I use the Spy Watch to change into a spacesuit. I head for the airlock. “I’ll be right back.”

I enter the airlock and head up the staircase. I reach the emergency exit door after swimming up three flights of stairs and turn the handle – but the door isn’t budging!

“Come on! Open!” I say, applying my shoulder. After a moment, the door obligingly opens, and I step out into space.

“Whoa…” I sigh as I float in space. I feel like I’m floating in water. It’s incredible. But that feeling only lasts for a second when I activate the jet-propelled backpack and get to work.

I make my descent towards the base of the club as that’s where the explosives are most likely to be – and I’m hoping Zeke.

I make it to the base in no time – and I let out a gasp when I find Zeke lying unconscious on the opposite side.

“Zeke!” I cry, racing over to him. When I catch up to him, my eyes are wide in fear when I see his faceplate is cracked. A passing rock must have hit him in the face and since Zeke is in vacuum, he must have blacked out.

“Don’t worry, Zeke – I’ve got you,” I say, carrying him in my arms. I scale up the club and back into the airlock. Down the staircase we go and back into the club, where we’re greeted by a horrified Oscar and Percy.

“Zeke!” Oscar cries. “Is he OK? What happened?”

“His faceplate got smashed by a passing space rock,” I reply, removing my helmet. “Who knows how long he was out there for?”

I remove Zeke’s helmet and check his pulse. It’s very weak but it’s there, thank God.

“He’s OK – for now,” I inform the others. “But at least he’s removed the explosives.”

A groan.

We look down at Zeke who made the noise.

“Zeke?” I say. “Zeke, can you hear me?”

He groans again. “One more…” he croaks.

“Huh? One more? One more what?” Percy asks.

“Come on, Zeke. One more what?” Oscar enquires.

“One more charge…” he rasps.

I gasp. “There’s still one more charge left! Don’t worry, Zeke – I’ll sort it out!” I put on my helmet and move inside the airlock, closing the door behind me and head back into space.

I move quickly – I’ve got less than a minute to deactivate the last explosive.

I zoom over to the place where I picked up Zeke, hoping that the last explosive is there. And I’m right. The explosive is a timer and a number pad attached to the engine of the club. The question is, how did Zeke do it? How did he activate the other bombs? I’ve got to work it out – and quickly! There’s only thirty seconds left.

Come on, Frank! THINK! The Grandmaster designed this bomb. If he wanted to deactivate it, what code would he use? What will stick in his mind for him to remember…?

Then it hits me. Of course! It has to be it! But I better act now – only ten seconds left.

I punch in the code: 3-5-6-7-7-9. “God, I hope it’s right…” I say, and I hit the enter key.

My eyes are shut, waiting for the club’s destruction. However, nothing has happened. I open my eyes… and see that the timer has stopped – with only one second left!

“I did it,” I whisper. “I bloody did it!”

I cheer in victory. The club hasn’t blown up! Thank you, General Flopsy! I used his name as the deactivation code: 3-5-6-7-7-9 – which on a keypad will spell out F-L-O-P-S-Y.

After congratulating myself on a job well done, I head back inside the club. Oscar and Percy are waiting for me – and so is Zeke, who has fully regained consciousness.

“Guys, worry no more. The last explosive has been deactivated,” I tell them, removing my helmet. “Now we have to find a way of returning to Earth.”

“And I think there might be a way,” Zeke reports, still a little weak. “We can use Professor Rossington’s formula and use the air inside the club to fuel the rocket.”

“Use the professor’s formula? But isn’t that dangerous?” Oscar asks.

“It’s extremely dangerous – and unless the calculations are correct for the rockets, the club could explode.”

“You always have to be a half empty glass guy, don’t you?” Percy remarks.

“I’m just stating the facts, Perce.”

After giving it some thought I say, “All right, let’s do it. But first we need to get in touch with MI9…”

“There isn’t time for that, Frank. If Director Fairchild says no, who knows how long it’ll take for help to arrive before we all suffocate from lack of air. We have to act now!”

My knuckle crack when I hand clenches into a fist. He’s right – time is running out.

“Fine – we’ll do it your way, Zeke. I better get out there.”

“I’m coming with you.” Before I can protest, Zeke adds, “I managed to figure out how to perfect the formula.”

I stare at him. “You what?”

“It came to me while I was floating around, unconscious. I know what the formula is missing – I can provide the solution. Please, Frank – let me come with you.”

“Well…” I did say earlier that whatever problem he faced, he’ll find the solution. So why not?” OK, Zeke – you can come. Let’s do it.”

Once again I put my helmet back on while Zeke changes into another spacesuit with a new helmet. We go back into the airlock and back into space. We go underneath the club where the engines are and begin our work to convert them.

When we finish ten minutes later, Zeke and I head back into the club and change back into our normal clothes.

“Everything is ready,” says Zeke. “You guys better get yourselves strapped in. I’ll inform everyone what’s happening.”

We do what’s said and get our hands on to whatever’s bolted to the floor. After Zeke informs the whole club on what’s about to happened everyone grabs a hold onto something. Zeke, Kenzie and Hay-Hay swim over to us and get strapped in.

“Is everyone ready?” Zeke asks.

We nod. I hope this works…

“OK – I’ll activate the engines in five, four, three, two, one…” Zeke activates the engine via Spy Watch. The club rockets fires up and we begin to head towards Earth.

“It’s working!” I yell. “You did it, Zeke!”

“ _We_ did it, Frank!” he corrects me. “Sciences Bros for life!”

“You know, it’s all well and good that we’re returning to Earth,” says Oscar, “but how are we going to stop crashing once we’ve entered the atmosphere?!”

“Uh-oh! I didn’t think that through!”

“Great! So rather than suffocating in space, we’re gonna crash into London, killing millions of people!” Kenzie concludes.

“That’s about sums it up! Guys – I think now is a very good time to start panicking…!”

And as we scream blue murder, part of me is hoping that something will save us from crash landing into London.


	59. Back to Earth

**(Jenny’s POV)**

It’s been almost half an hour since Professor Rossington gave himself up to SKUL. I’m wallowing in self-pity with Director Fairchild and Stark when the phone starts ringing.

“Hello?” Director Fairchild answers gloomily. A few seconds later she jolts up from her chair. “What? Are you sure? Right – thank you.” She hangs up.

“Ma’am? What’s happened?” Stark asks.

“That was UKSA,” she replies. “They’ve just spotted the nightclub on their radar. It seems that it’s falling back to Earth.”

“It’s coming back to Earth?” I repeat. “That’s great news!”

“I don’t think you understand, Agent Brownstone. The club is _falling_ back to Earth. That means it’s going to crash into London.”

“There’ll be no time for an evacuation,” says Stark. “What do we do?”

An idea springs to me. “I’ve got it!” I say. I go over to Director Fairchild’s desk and start typing on the computer. A few clicks later I gain access into Zeke’s androids.

“What are you doing?” Director Fairchild asks.

“I’m calling on Brawn Hilda,” I respond, still typing.

“I’m sorry, who?” Stark enquires.

“It’s another one of Zeke’s creations,” I explain. “A heavy-duty android designed for maximum strength amplification at the cost of reduced versatility and mobility. She can withstand a force of 100,000 megatons. I’m accessing her mainframe to get her to stop the nightclub from crashing into London.”

As I finish up typing, the phone rings again. Director Fairchild answers – and hangs up thirty seconds later.

“That was the Mole,” she says. “SKUL has seen the club’s descent towards Earth and the Grandmaster has ordered a squadron of nitrogen engine planes to intercept it.”

“Well, they’ll have to get past Brawn Hilda first,” I remark.

“There’s more. The Grandmaster has ordered one of his pilots to take Professor Rossington with him in case something goes wrong with the engines.”

“We need to figure a way of rescuing him,” Stark adds.

“And I think I know how.” I access Zeke’s computer again and download the schematics of another creation of his into my watch. When that’s done I use my watch to change into a sleek, powered-amour battle suit, complete with built-in thrusters and defensive shields.

“Check me out!” I exclaim. “Just call me Iron Maiden.”

“My word,” Director Fairchild gasps, while Stark gapes at me like a fish.

“Right – I’m gonna try and intercept the SKUL jets. Stark, call for any available agents in and around the capital and have them ready to see to the civilians when the club lands.”

Stark frowns – but does what he’s told to do after Director Fairchild flashes him a dark look.

“OK, team – let’s save London!” I activate the jet thrusters situated in the boots and launch myself out of the window and into the night air.

“Oopsy!” I wince, realizing I should have had the windows opened first. I am in so much trouble for that – but I can worry about that later. Right now, I have a professor to save.

As I soar over the city, I see the club continuing to back to Earth. It’s getting nearer and nearer. Just then I see a figure heading for the club. I zoom in, and I see that it’s Brawn Hilda making her way to the club via thrusters. She closes in… and catches it!

“Yes!” I cheer. “Well done, Hilda!”

However, my celebrations are cut short when I notice far in the distance six aircrafts flying in a vic formation.

The SKUL jets!

Looks like I’ve got a fight on my hands – but I know I can take them.

I fly towards the aircraft, passing the club and I begin to intercept the jets. I fly at them at top speed, running circles around them. I can sense a few of the jets behind me, but I peel away to avoid their attacks. I glide behind the SKUL jets and prepare to take them out with the mini-missile launcher installed in the gauntlet – but the jets explode before I have a chance to fire.

“Whoa!” I exclaim. The overheating of the engines must have caused the jets to explode due to Professor Rossington’s unfinished invention. I need to find him quickly before he goes out with a bang.

But before I can, two more SKUL jets angle towards me – and start firing. I activate my defence shields and a light blue bubble surrounds me, protecting me from SKUL’s assault.

“Great. I’m going to enjoy this,” I say sarcastically. But a few moments later, the jets explode.

Oh God. I hope Professor Rossington wasn’t in any of them. Still, that’s the best fireworks display I’ve ever seen since New Year’s.

There’s only one SKUL jet left and I’m ready to take it down. But it seems the pilot is doing the job for me as it descends to Hyde Park. I follow after it and as I lands, the canopy to the enemy aircraft slides open. The SKUL pilot jumps out – and starts shooting at me!

Unfortunately for him the suit is bulletproof, so his attempts at killing me have proven to be fruitless. By the time he’s realized that he can’t take me out, I’ve already marched up to him and knock him out with a single punch.

“Bravo, Agent Brownstone! Well done!”

I look up and find Professor Rossington applauding me. As he exits the jet, I step forward to greet him.

“Professor! I’m so glad you’re OK. I thought you’d perished in one of the jets. How did you manage to destroy them?”

“In his impatience to get my secret, the Grandmaster didn’t ask if it worked,” he replies.

“Ah! Well, that serves him right. Now that you’re safe I better give MI9 a call, and have you picked up, and have _him_ ” – jerking my head to the unconscious SKUL pilot – “locked up.”

“What about the nightclub?”

“Safely back in London. I just hope everyone is all right and in one piece.”

**(Frank’s POV)**

Oh, my God. This is it.

We’ve entered the Earth’s atmosphere and we’re coming in hot. We have no way of stopping the club from crashing into London.

I never thought I’d go out like this. I can’t die now! I had so much to live for! Suddenly, my life flashes before my eyes: I can see my mother smiling as she tucks me in as a child. My school days as a lanky teenager, worrying about homework and girls. I see the day I was picked as a prime recruit for MI9 – and becoming handler to Oscar, Rose and Carrie. Then I see the day I met Jenny, my beautiful bride to-be – soon to be a widow. It brings tears to my eyes to know that I’m never going to see her again.

I’m so sorry, my darling. I will always love you.

I tightly shut my eyes, bracing for impact and waiting for my death…

Suddenly everything comes to a halt – causing everyone to scream and cry out.

“Oh, my God,” I hear Zeke say. “Guys – look!”

I slowly open my eyes, wondering what is happening. I let out a gasp.

We are descending into London… but at a much slower pace. But how?

Oscar seems to have read my mind. “How… how is this happening?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” says Zeke.

“It looks like we have a guardian angel by our side,” Percy remarks, and we all murmur in agreement.

The club continues to make its way down. I feel like bursting into tears. I can’t believe we’re going to live – and so will the millions of people living in London.

Moments later the club lands in Regent’s Park with a soft _thud_. At first no-one moves as we’re all still in shock that we’re all in one piece. But then a few people climb to their feet – followed by several more. Soon everyone in the nightclub is standing up. It feels very weird now that we’re standing on solid ground after spending no more than a couple of hours floating in space.

Zeke is the first to speak up. “Erm, everyone… If you’d like to follow me.” He heads for the staircase – with me, Oscar, Percy, Kenzie and Hay-Hay following behind.

Zeke leads everyone up the three flights of stairs. When we go through the exit door, we’re surrounded by several dozens of men in black suits and sunglasses. Among the men is a familiar looking figure with a default expression on his face…

“It’s Stark!” Percy states. “For once I’m actually glad to see that annoyingly smug mug again.”

Me too – but I don’t say it out loud without giving away my double life as a spy.

Just then I notice someone else in the crowd, standing next to Stark. An eight foot tall, bulky, muscular Amazon, wearing a skintight leotard and combat boots.

“Good God. That’s Brawn Hilda!” says Zeke. “What’s she doing here?”

“We can find that out later,” I tell him. “Right now let’s get off this thing.”

An inflatable slide is placed for us to evacuate from. I feel like kissing the ground now that we’re back on a planet that has gravity.

“Man, it’s good to be back on Earth!” says Kenzie.

“Amen to that,” Percy agrees.

“Hello, Planet Earth!” Zeke calls to the sky. “Did you miss me? Because I missed you!”

“Me too,” I say, Oscar nodding in agreement.

“Well, I don’t about you guys… but that was the best stag night ever!” Hay-Hay declares.

We turn to him like he’s mad.

“Are you serious?” I say. “Have you forgotten what has happened in the last couple of hours?”

“Yeah! And there’s no other person who could ever top that. This has to go on record as the greatest stag night of all time! You should be thanking Zeke for planning such an extravaganza, Frank. I know I would – I’m gonna be famous when I post the pictures I’ve got on Facebook and Instagram.”

I’m about to argue back when Zeke interjects. “He’s right, Frank. Remember when you came to the Lanesborough, I promised you that this stag weekend will be ranked as the greatest in history. And that’s exactly what I have just done.”

“Not to mention my birthday celebrations,” Oscar adds. “This actually covers the next ten birthday presents – nothing’s going to top this.”

“This actually was the best night of my life,” says Kenzie, agreeing. “I mean… I was in space! The final frontier – even if it was for a few hours. It was a spectacularly, breathtaking event that I will never ever get to experience again in my life.”

“You’ve got to admit… this was one hell of a night out, wasn’t it, Frank?” says Percy.

It got me thinking. Zeke did promise me a stag night I’ll never forget, and look where that got me – a few hours up in space. And like Kenzie said, I’ll never get to experience something like that ever again.

I break into a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Zeke,” I say. “This has been the greatest stag night in history. Thank you.”

“Thanks, Zeke,” the others say, patting him on the back and shoulders while Zeke’s cheeks glow with pride.

After the last person has left the club, Stark informs everyone that the MI9 agents will take them to the hospital to get checked over and then taken home afterwards.

But for me, Oscar, Zeke and Percy, it’s different. An agent escorts us into one of the vans where we get checked over by a paramedic – as we get taken to MI9 headquarters to be debriefed. (Even though we didn’t have a mission, it was our weekend off.) Along the way, Zeke and I are given pure oxygen as we both ventured out into space without doing proper procedures.

When we reach Thames House, we get escorted to Director Fairchild’s office where we get greeted by her Professor Rossington… and a huge hole in her wall. We spend the rest of the night explain the events of our time in space: the deactivation of the explosives; Zeke nearly dying, but ends up getting rescued by me; and Zeke and I using Professor Rossington’s formula to rocket the club back to Earth which Zeke perfected. Then the director and the professor tells their side of the story: Professor Rossington surrendering to SKUL; the professor building nitrogen engines for SKUL’s jets; Jenny using Brawn Hilda to catch the club and stopping it from crashing into London; and Jenny using Zeke’s Powered-Armour Exosuit to stop the SKUL jets from intercepting the club and saving the professor.

“So it was Jenny who saved our lives,” I say. “She really is an angel.”

“A guardian angel,” Oscar adds, and I nod.

“Agent Brownstone would have loved to have greeted you all, but unfortunately she had to make herself scarce as she couldn’t risk seeing Frank until the wedding,” Director Fairchild explains.

“I understand,” I say. But when I do see Jen, on our honeymoon I intend on expressing just how grateful I am in the most physical manner I can think of.

“You know it’s a shame SKUL has the details for the nitrogen engine as they can perfect the device,” Zeke states.

“Actually, they won’t,” says Professor Rossington.

We turn to him. “What do you mean, professor?” I ask.

“While I was a SKUL’s base working on the blueprints, I altered the plans so as to make the design unworkable. So when SKUL attempts to build their version of the engine, it will end up a failure.”

We stare at him in amazement. “That’s incredible, professor!” Percy states.

“That’s not all. I made a second plan containing the engine’s information which I saved on a USB drive. However, I infected it with a computer virus.

“As a result, the computer and the drive will be destroyed,” Zeke deduces.

It’s not long before everyone in the room – including me – laugh at the irony of the moment. Soon my laughter turns to yawning – as does everybody else.

“Lord, am I knackered!” Percy declares. “What I need is a week in a nice, soft bed.”

“You and me both,” says Oscar.

“I think we all deserve a rest,” says Director Fairchild. “Consider this debrief over. I’ll see you all on Monday.”

We say our goodnights to the director, Professor Rossington and Stark, and we make our way out of HQ.

“OK, guys, change of plan,” says Zeke. “We spend the next two days indoors and sleeping in our beds like bears in hibernation. We’ll go paintballing and laser tagging next weekend. How does that sound?”

“Like an excellent idea,” I reply, with Oscar and Percy agreeing.

We flag down a taxi to take us back to the hotel. Once we’re there, we head up to our room and say our goodnights. Once I’m in my own room, I don’t even bother changing into my PJs – I just collapse on my bed and doze off to sleep… zzzzzzzz.


End file.
